It's All In the Point of View
by Diana Lucifera
Summary: Step into the shoes of the boy that Harry Potter loves to hate. Everyone's favorite wanna be antihero deals with oppression, awkward teen romances, weird dreams, and mysteries as old as Dumbledore. [Diary form, Years 1 through 3]
1. Year the First: Chapter the First

Yay! It's up, it's up! This is my baby. My child. Seed of Novalee.It is the longest thing I have ever written. It goes all the way up to current continuity.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. No-frickin'-duh. Draco is not mine and quite a bit of the world and events that I describe don't either. Any plotlines that you do not recognize, as well as new characters, _are_ property of me, so HAH! ... Anyway, don't sue me, because that would be mean and unprofitable for _you_, as I spend all of my money on food and manga, anyway.

**Author Note:** I collect quotes. They're on my computer, written on my bedroom mirror, and pasted all over my binders. With all of this exposure, it's no wonder that a few of them will make it into this fic. If you recognize something, it probably doesn't belong to me. If you don't, it's fair game.

Well, that's all I've got to say! On to the fic! This is PoV! Enjoy!

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_A new point of view_

_A walk in your shoes_

_I wish I could get inside your head_

_To see what you see_

_When you look at me_

_Cause I could've lived your life instead_

-Instead, Stacie Orrico

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**Wednesday, July 24, 1991: Ministry of Magic**

My father said he would "reward me" when my Hogwarts letter arrived. As expected, it came yesterday. So, I'm thinking racing broom. That's what normal parents get their children, right? Brooms or new robes or pets, those are_ good _presents.

But _no_.

Apparently my father's idea of a reward is taking me to _work_ with him.

I am going to die.

I've been sitting on the same bench for hours, listening to these people drone on and on. They are talking about bills. Bills! Do you know how boring that is? I think my ears are bleeding.

And Mum's gift wasn't much better. A journal? Please. It isn't even one of those killer journals, like Father had when he was my age. When someone tried to read it, it screamed like a banshee and petrified them. Some types will even take off an arm! Now, _that _is a cool gift.

Oh well, at least she didn't give me bloody parliament.

**Still Wednesday**

I leaned over and asked Father why I had to come. He said I should start learning about my future career now. He intends to work me into the ministry as soon as I graduate. I thought about telling him that I would rather skewer myself through the temple and die a horrible, bloody death, but I didn't think that would sit too well with him.

Hmm… Another man just came in. His son looks about my age. Maybe he brought chocolate or a book or something.

**Still Wednesday, Yes Still**

That went well. What a rude person! That boy's name is Theodore Nott, and I hope he ends up in Hufflepuff. So I went over to talk to him, right? I had to duck behind pews to get over there and when I sat down next to him he just ignored me. I poked him in the arm and hissed an introduction.

Me: Psst! Hey!

Nott: (looks at me blankly)

Me: Are you going to Hogwarts?

Nott: (nod)

Me: So am I. My name's Draco Malfoy. That's my father speaking. _He's_ the head of the Department of Mysteries.

Nott: Theodore Nott. (points) That's my dad. He's the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He's got a _much_ bigger department than _your_ dad.

Me: Oh.

At this point I am still trying to salvage the conversation.

Me: Father made me come. This is supposed to be my reward for getting into Hogwarts. Isn't that pathetic?

Nott: Do you think so? I suppose if it's over your head… _My_ Father gave _me _a racing broom.

Me: Oh.

This isn't working. Let us try a different approach.

Me: You know, when I'm older, _I'll_ be head of a Department. We have connections, you know. Straight up to Fudge. Is this your first session?

Nott: No, I always come here. Father doesn't like me to be home alone with the aurors about.

Me: Why-

Nott: My mum's dead.

Me: Umm…

Gee, thanks for sharing.

Me: That's… too bad.

Nott: Isn't it though. Now be quiet. I'm trying to hear this. If you don't understand, why don't you just go draw or something?

So I left. What is this Theodore Nott's problem, anyway? If he ends up in Slytherin, I am transferring to Durmstrang. I don't care if Mum thinks it's too far away, I refuse to share a house with people like that.

My legs have fallen asleep.

**Thursday, July 25: Malfoy Mansion**

Pansy's parents got her a Nimbus 2000. That's right, a racing broom. She showed up on my front step today with it slung over her shoulder, wanting me to come play Quidditch with her. I told her that I could not drag myself outside as I was weighted down with shame.

She kicked me. It hurts still.

So I took my sad, pathetic Comet 260, stumbling because of the sharp pangs of humiliation and my aching leg. Pansy and I were on a team with Millicent Bulstrode and some others. We kicked the Patil twins' butts. Hah! I could beat them on any broom. Die, pathetic fools! I still want a racing broom, though.

I shall hatch an evil scheme to force my parents to buy me one. Maybe if I fell of the turret... I wonder how much this would hurt.

**Friday, July 26**

So much for that plan. Crabbe and Goyle came over today. I took them with me to the turret to plan out my diabolical scheme. Unfortunately, I forgot exactly whom I was dealing with.

The minute we stepped out, Goyle went pitching off the side. He then fell eleven stories to the ground below. Shattered every bone in his body.

Okay, ouch. That's _got _to hurt.

They say it will take at least two weeks to grow them all back. I will have to think up another plan because there's no way I'm spending two weeks healing. That's forever!

**Sunday, July 28**

You'd think waiting to go to Hogwarts would be exciting. But all I can seem to do is lay around and stare at the ceiling, hoping desperately that someone will come over. No one has, so far.

I read _Hogwarts: A History_. It was good, but I just wanted to leave sooner after finishing it. Also finished a book called _He Flew Like a Madman_, about "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn, and read Gilderoy Lockhart's biography. For some reason, _Magical Me_ reminded me of that boy, Theodore Nott. I don't think I like Lockhart…

It's pretty sad that I've just read all summer. I could have learned new moves on my broom. I might have written a novel and become famous! Then, when I was called up for sorting, everyone would gasp when they learned who I was. After all, I look so _normal_! Then, applause would spread through the room. Soon they would stand, welcoming me to the Slytherin table and awarding me the position of Seeker, an honor never before bestowed on a first year. They would worship me.

Pansy just leaned over my shoulder and told me that I have an overactive imagination and possibly need help. I didn't even hear her come in. She wants to go into town for sweets. I don't really feel like it, but I suppose it's better than wallowing in my misery all day.

**Monday, July 29**

We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow. Finally, I'm moving forward. On to Hogwarts! Actually, I still have 32 days left until I leave. Darn it! I have _got_ to get out of this Mansion house.

**Tuesday, July 30: In Route to Malfoy Mansion**

Maybe Pansy's right. Maybe it is me. So far, every Hogwarts student I've met hates me. Was it something I said, perhaps?

Father and Mother took me for school supplies today, as promised. Of course, as soon as we got there Mum wandered off to "socialize a bit" and Father went to buy my books. At least that's what he said he was doing. I dunno, he probably went to Knockturn Alley.

So, promising to meet me at Ollivander's wand shop, they left their ten-year-old son with a bag of gold and a shopping list. Thanks heaps, guys.

When I was in Madam Malkin's trying on robes, this boy came in and stood next to me. He looked a little funny, with hair sticking up all over the place and taped up glasses, but I didn't tell him that, of course. I decided to introduce myself.

Me: Hullo. Hogwarts too?

Boy: Yes.

Me: My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands.

I told him all about my plan to acquire a racing broom and get it into school, somehow. I asked him if he had his own broom and he said no. Then I asked him if he played Quidditch.

Boy: No.

Me: I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?

Boy: No.

Me: (wondering if he will say anything other than "yes" and "no") Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?

Boy: Mmm.

This isn't going too well. Must find something to talk about, must come up with something. Then I saw this enormous man outside the window. And if there's one thing I know, it's that collective insults are a wonderful icebreaker.

Me: I say, look at that man!

Boy: (sounding rather smug) That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts.

Then I remembered. Father had told me about him. He's half giant, you know, and, apparently, not too bright.

Me: Oh, I've heard of him. He's some sort of servant, isn't he?

Boy: (touchily) He's the gamekeeper.

There's a difference?

Me: Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of _savage_ - lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed.

Boy: (icy glare) I think he's brilliant.

Me: _Do_ you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?

Boy: They're dead.

What is it lately? People are dropping like flies! Is it something in the water?

Me: (not sure what to say) Oh, sorry. But they were _our kind_, weren't they?

Boy: They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean.

Oh, good, a subject change.

Me: I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families.

Boy: …

Me: What's your surname, anyway?

But I never got to find out, as his fitting was done. He actually seemed grateful to get away from me. Like I was contagious!

Me: Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose.

Boy: …

I'm not sure what it is. This bespectacled boy hates me as much as Nott does! Really, did I say something wrong? I don't think so. It was all just small talk, I think. Merlin, I need help. I guess it'll be better when I'm in Slytherin with the others.

Father wasn't in Flourish & Blotts, when I checked.

Shocker.

Still no racing broom.

**Tuesday, August 6: Malfoy Mansion**

I'm bored out of my brains. We're going tomorrow to see my Great-Aunt Adeline. I don't like her. She calls me Sherisse and talks about "those Ravenclaw guys we met in Hogsmeade last weekend". It's scary.

I'm reading all of my textbooks. It's official. I'm desperate.

25 days 'till Hogwarts.

**Thursday, August 8: Saint Mungo's**

This place smells funny. Why ever am I in St. Mungo's Hospital, you ask? Well, you see, when Great-Aunt Adeline saw Father coming, she threw herself out a fourth story window, screaming that he could not keep her from her true love. This wouldn't have been a problem, but Adeline has a wonderful collection of bubotuber and venomous tentacula planted below her window. Turns out, boils and vicious, spiky vines don't mix.

I went by the Dai Llewellyn Ward (since I've read his biography, you know). Stared at the ailing until the staff kicked me out. Maybe I'll write Crabbe… Do you think he could read it?

23 days 'till Hogwarts.

**Monday, August 12**

Pansy always knows how to cheer me up. She showed up at St. Mungo's today, with a large bag full of dungbombs. We tossed them into the Chauncey Oldridge wing, and watched as all the occupants screamed and ran out. We chuckled heartily at their expense.

**Wednesday, August 14: Malfoy Mansion, At Last**

Finally, I'm home! St. Mungo's was torture! It smells much better here. Adeline kissed the air by both my cheeks, slipped me a gaudy, purple ring, and whispered "Remember Sherisse, the Phoenix rises at midnight." I guess that means she'll be fine.

17 days 'till Hogwarts.

**Monday, August 26**

Starting to get cold feet. What if I get to school and everybody's like Theodore Nott and the bespectacled boy. What if the only people who like me are Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle? And Crabbe and Goyle only like me because I feed them! Or what if I put the Sorting Hat on my head and it puts me in Hufflepuff?

I don't think this is a good idea. I want to go to Durmstrang. Maybe it's not too late?

**Still Monday**

No go. Mum says Durmstrang too far from home. I asked her why it matters how far away I am, it's not like she can visit me. I'm grounded, which I don't think is fair. Then again, I did fly into a fit of rage, called her a controlling, inhuman, old bag. But, really!

5 days 'till Hogwarts

**Saturday, August 31**

Would you believe it? I've just heard that Harry Potter is going to Hogwarts! Why is it that Pansy always knows things before I do? I feel slighted.

Anyway, Harry Potter is the person who defeated the Dark Lord ten years ago. Would you believe he's only my age? No one knows how he did it, but when You-Know-Who cast the Killing Curse on him, it backfired." That left Harry Potter with a lightning bolt scar and You-Know-Who almost dead.

So you see, he was the reason my father almost ended up in Azkaban. All of the deatheaters were rounded up and tried. Father and a few others convinced them that they were under the Imperius Curse, being controlled. Were they really? I don't know. For all of Father's hatred towards muggles, I wouldn't be surprised if he was a deatheater.

But the important thing is, this super-important wizard is in my year. I think I'd like to meet him. Maybe he'll be in Slytherin! Then I can still be famous, even if I never wrote that novel.

Hogwarts tomorrow.

**Sunday, September 1: In Route from Platform 9 ¾**

Well, that's fabulous. Just _fabulous_. Make enemies with the greatest wizard of our time, why don't you? That's _real_ smart, Draco.

So here's what happened: My day started of great. For once, I woke up on time. I should have suspected right then, of course. After all, when things begin to go right for me, it usually means all hell's about to break loose.The house elves loaded all of my bags into the carriage, I packed up the eagle owl that Great-Aunt Adeline sent me, and we were off. Father came, which, I must admit, made me happy. I thought he'd forget, for some reason.

After I said goodbye to Father and Mum, I caught up with Crabbe and Goyle. I was listening to them grunt on to eachotherabout sea-monkeys when Pansy, the Patil twins, and some other girls came bursting into my compartment, squealing unintelligibly about Harry Potter being down the train.

Being the wide-eyed, curious tyke that I am, I just had to see him. Flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, I began my quest. But, when I finally found him, I was in for a surprise. Here's how my formal introduction to the most powerful person in a thousand years went.

Me: Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment.

Would you believe, it was the bespectacled boy? The inexplicably rude one, from Diagon Alley. Curse my luck.

Me: So it's you, is it?

Potter: Yes.

Oh, wonderful. Let's start this again. He stared behind me.

Me: Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle. And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.

Then the redhead behind him sniggered quite loudly. Which I think is incredibly rude. My name is Latin for dragon or serpent. It is a very regal name. He is named after a rodent. I can see why my father hates his family.

Me: Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasley's have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.

So there!

Me: You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.

So I held out my hand for him to shake. He just looked at it and said coldly, "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

Oh, like I'm the wrong sort! He doesn't know anything. Nothing at all! Did you know he was raised by muggles? No wonder he can't play Quidditch. He's probably never heard of it!

Me: I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you.

The parents comment was, I admit, a _little_ bit mean. But he didn't seem exactly torn up about it when he told me they were dead, now, did he? That's what happened. They messed with You-Know-Who. My father told me.

Weasley: (jumping up) Say that again.

Me: Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?  
Potter: Unless you get out now.

Of course, I refused and set Crabbe and Goyle on their food. Someone's rat bit Goyle's finger and he swung it round 'till it flew off and hit a window. I figured that was my cue to go. Why was I excited about Hogwarts again?

**Still Saturday: Hogwarts Great Hall**

Well, I just got sorted. Slytherin! Crabbe and Goyle, too. I think Pansy will make it in, if only because I can't imagine her in any of the other houses. She is in no way chivalrous, just, or wise. Cunning? You'd better believe it.

Had a sudden urge to throw things at Potter while he waited. Was only restrained by Professor McGonagall walking by. She's head of the Gryffindor house and looks as if she has been sucking on a lemon for a couple centuries.

The Bloody Baron, who is, in fact, covered in silver blood and rather creepy, is breathing over my shoulder. Not breathing, exactly, as he's a ghost, but hovering. Blue mist is seeping through my cloak and it isn't at all pleasant. Sends cold shivers up my spine.

Uhhoh. "Parkinson, Pansy". Let's cross our fingers, shall we?

Oh, yes, and to make my perfect day complete, guess who _else_ was sorted into Slytherin. Oh, you know, the same person who will share a dorm room with me for the next seven years! Why Theodore Nott, that's who.

I am so going to Durmstrang.


	2. Chapter the Second

**Monday, September 2: Slytherin Common Room**

Dead tired this morning. Spent half the night arguing with Nott. I'm _sorry_, but I need the middle bed! That way, Crabbe and Goyle are on either side of me and the door's right in front of me, so I can see if someone's sneaking in. Nott had the nerve to call me paranoid. He has obviously not grown up in a place akin Malfoy Mansion.

Lucius Malfoy Lesson #1: Trust no one. Sleep with one eye open and stash a dagger under your pillow.

I won by the way. I'm rooming with Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, and a boy named Forrest Angelo. He was the one who told Nott to "just let it go". I like him.

But this wasn't the real reason. I did eventually get to sleep, but I had this really creepy dream. You know Professor Quirrell, the Dark Arts teacher? Well, he wears this turban all the time and, in the dream, it was on my head. And Potter was standing opposite me, wearing Slytherin robes and the Sorting Hat. He was laughing at me except it couldn't have been his laugh, because it was high and cold and sent shivers down my spine.

Then the turban started tightening on my head; tighter and tighter. There was a roaring in my ears and I was seeing green spots all over. It was killing me!

I couldn't think, couldn't breath and, as everything started to fade into velvety, green blackness, all I could hear was Not-Potter's voice. I think it was actually coming from the turban. When I woke up, I could still hear it.

It was monstrously _strange_.

**Still Monday**

Pansy introduced me to her dorm mates. They are about as much of a scary combination as mine. I knew Millicent Bulstrode already, (She is like a female Crabbe and Goyle.) but the rest I hadn't met. One, Daphne Greengrass, doesn't strike me as too bright as she giggles constantly. Another, Aino Moon, wears only black and powders her face white. Whenever I see her, she gives me this glare that causes my very heart to freeze over.

Oh yes, and the last one introduced herself like this:

"Hi! My names Tracey Davis! I'm a Gemini, lookin' for a Scorpio. Blood type B, ya know."

To which Pansy replied that I am a Scorpio, but I'm looking for more of a Cancer. She also said that I was probably a Type A.

Umm… What?

**Still Monday, Midnight: Slytherin Boys Dorm**

I should have known. Crabbe and Goyle snore. I thought there was something _evil_ in here! I have to get to sleep. Classes start tomorrow.

**Tuesday, September 3: DADA Class**

Feh. We should be learning about the Dark Arts, not how to defend against them! And Professor Quirrell's stutter unnerves me. He's all talk and smells like garlic. They say he's never been the same after he met up with those vampires.

This class is such a joke.

**Wednesday, September 4: Potions**

I have decided that I like Professor Snape. He's head of Slytherin and obviously hates Gryffindors. Thank ye gods that there is someone here who is not completely delusional. I believe I will enjoy this class.

**Still Wednesday: Transfiguration**

This class however… Merlin, how old _is_ this woman? She's like the walking dead! When will the torture end?

Poured Pickle Paste down Nott's back during Potions. Got away with it, too, as Snape appears to favor me. Good. I need some help if I'm going to survive this hell. On second thought, no hell involves Theodore Nott turning green. Hah!

**Thursday, September 5: History of Magic**

This is the first day of class, how can it be this boring? It's just one droning, sleep-inducing lecture. Professor Bins really gives ghosts a bad name. He's even more decrepit than McGonagall!

_Understandably so, Draco dear. He's dead, remember?_

Shut up, Pansy. And don't write in here.

_Why not? Does Ickle Draco love his bitty dairy to smidgens? _

I'll kill you, Parkinson. And stop laughing, you're going to get us

**Later on Tuesday: The Dorm Room**

Caught. In trouble. Busted. I might have said any one of them. But no, it was too late for that. It is my first week and I have already lost points for Slytherin. Oh well. Professor Snape gave me ten, so losing two is no problem! Hah! I have once again escaped punishment… Yes.

I never did say how my sorting went. I guess I should write that down, shouldn't I:

"Well," said the hat, once it was placed on my head. "A Malfoy. I've had you lot before. You're Draco, then. Son of a Slytherin, son of a Slytherin, son of a Slytherin, son of a Slytherin, son of a Ravenclaw (Oh, my! A black sheep!), son of a Slytherin…."

"Oh, get on with it," I told him.

"Well, you might make a good Hufflepuff. Oh, I'm joking, boy! You Malfoys never could take a joke! Well, I guess you belong in SLYTHERIN."

Funny but, when I took it off, no time had passed at all. Do you think the hat runs time differently? And who is this Ravenclaw chap? I need to look that up, someday.

Maybe.

**Friday, September 6: The Great Hall**

Someone stuffed Cockroach Clusters in my ears as I slept last night (Nott!). No one can prove who did it (Nott!) and nobody caught (Nott!) them. I did notice that Theodore looked remarkably cheerful this morning.

I hid Fizzing Wizbees in his mash potatoes and Filch had to get a rope to drag him down from the roof of the Entrance hallway. I am now watching my back. This could get ugly.

**Later on Friday: The Dorm**

I love Snape! Hah! That was fun…

Draco's Favorite Moment of the Day: Snape (to Potter): "Tut, tut- fame clearly isn't everything."

That Neville Longbottom melted someone's cauldron and ended up covered in boils. Another Gryffindor, a self-proclaimed genius (insert sneer appropriately), nearly had a seizure because Snape wouldn't call one her, and Snape used _me_ as an example. Things are going my way again.

**Monday, September 9: Common Room**

Pansy says I should stop gloating over the sweets Mother sends me. She says that's the kind of thing that makes people want to slap me. I, however, think I have every right to gloat! Nothing says "I love you" like chocolate, right? Not that my mother would ever be caught dead uttering _that_ sentence.

I was talking to Forrest Angelo about this, and he asked me why my mum only sent sweets and no letters. Well, I don't know. I suppose she doesn't want to spend time writing to me. She can just send a house elf to get sweets.

This is a bit depressing.

Forrest Angelo says that's probably her way of showing affection. He says I shouldn't be jealous of people whose mums write them. Ridiculous! I'm not jealous. I just like making people feel bad. Is that hereditary, do you think?

Gave the sweets to Crabbe and Goyle. Felt better almost instantaneously.

**Tuesday, September 10: The Dorm**

Spent the entire morning getting my books clean. Nott slipped an open inkwell into my bag. One that had been charmed to be permanent. The fool will die.

Lucius Malfoy Lesson #2: Don't fight like a man. Fight like a Malfoy.

**Later Tuesday**

I sent him a pack of blood-flavored lollypops and Acid Pops, disguised as harmless sweets from Tracey Davis. He is having his tongue regrown as I write. He kept pointing at me and screaming, "It was him! It was him!" only it came out like "Eh uh eeemh! Eh uh eeemh!" To this, I have only one response: Prove it!

**Wednesday, September 11: Common Room**

Have Flying lessons with the Gryffindors tomorrow. Can't wait to show up Potter. He's never rode before. Hah. He's going to fall on his rear is my bet.

**Thursday, September 12: DADA Class**

Somebody sent Longbottom a Remembrall. Goodness knows he needs it! That boy is a walking disaster.

Tried to sneak a peak, but Professor McGonagall caught me. Lucky probably, as Potter and his pet, Weasley, looked ready to jump me. Still, I want to see it! Doesn't chivalry involve sharing? No… maybe not.

Well, chivalry is for pansies anyway. I want a look! Just waiting for the opportune moment.

**Later Thursday**

He lied! Potter lied! That's the only way! No one flies like that their first time! There's no way! That rotten, little, muggle-loving liar! I hope they _kill_ him!

**Still Thursday: The Dorm**

Alright, I'm calmer now. We had our Flying classes today, remember? Well, it didn't start of well at all. Madam Hooch began by telling me that I'd been holding my broom wrong since forever. Thanks a lot, _Dad_.

So anyway, Longbottom botched it up and fell. I won six Knuts from Forrest Angelo, who insisted that he was sure Longbottom would be okay. Longbottom was "a very nice boy, after all, if a little clumsy". How did Forrest Angelo end up in Slytherin? We may never know.

But I digress. The fall must have been thirty feet! He squealed like a pig all the way down. It was hilarious! Broke his wrist and Madam Hooch took him to the hospital wing. Leaving the innocent first years all alone. Right irresponsible if you ask me, but I was trying so hard not to laugh I didn't say a thing.

As soon as she was out of sight the Slytherins began to express their completely appropriate mirth at the situation. It all went downhill so quickly from there. I hardly know were to start. But this is basically it.

Me: Did you see his face, the great lump?

Parvati Patil: Shut up, Malfoy!

Pansy: Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati.

The first sign of division in the formally united Ranks of Pureblood Girls. I knew it couldn't last. Suddenly, I spotted something.

Me: Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him.

Potter: Give that here, Malfoy.

Gods, Potter! Don't be a _hero_!

Me: I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find- how about- up in a tree.

Potter: Give it here!

Me: Come and get it Potter!

And with that, I grabbed the broom and zoomed up into the sky. I thought this was quite clever for about a split second. Then, Potter got on his broomstick and flew up to me! Perfectly! I just can't believe he's never flown before. No one's that good on their first try.

Potter: Give it here or I'll knock you off that broom!

Me: Oh, yeah?

He almost speared me with his broom then. I think he's unstable, personally.

Potter: No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!

That could be a problem. My friends/bodyguards would be helpful in this situation. I thought about calling for them to come up, but then I had a better idea.

Me: Catch it if you can, then!

And with that, I heaved the Remembrall as far as I could and flew back to earth. It went up and then fast, streaking towards the ground.

And he caught it.

He dived and caught it.

It's unnatural, I tell you. I've never seen… It's not…

McGonagall caught him. I'm glad. I hope he's expelled and then I can have a decent time here! No more, "Like Harry Potter" and no more "THE Harry Potter" and Potter, Potter, Potter. Isn't he great? Isn't he grand? Harry Potter, that special boy! Wow!

It makes me want to retch!

**Later Thursday: The Library**

Pansy is right. I am way too rash. Sought out Potter at dinner, to find out what delicious punishment he had received.

Me: Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?

Potter: You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you.

Yes, I am! You would be too, if you had boys the size of hippogriph's on your side! He says it like it's a bad thing. Oh, wait. He's insulting me!

Me: I'd take you anytime on my own. Tonight if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only- no contact.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Pansy hissed in the back of my mind, "Being rash again, Draco! Being too rash!" I ignored it. I always do.

Me: What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?

Weasley: Of course he has. I'm his second, who's yours?

I looked my bodyguards up and down. Crabbe is more intelligent, I think. I'm not sure Goyle even knows my name.

Me: Crabbe. Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked.

Unfortunately, it doesn't look likely that I'll be in attendance at this particular dual. I've failed, once again, to check for teachers before bragging about my evil schemes. This is, apparently, _also_ rash. But, anyway, Filch rounded the corner while I was telling Blaise Zabini how I would turn Potter into a snail.

"I'll see you tonight, I hope, Mister Malfoy." He breathed.

Yeah, I'll bet you do. No way! I'm not getting expelled. I suppose the noble thing to do would be to warn Potter…

To bad Slytherin isn't known for its nobility! Luck to ya, Potter. You'll need it.

**Friday, September 13: Entrance Hall**

Gods, he's still here! I swear, Potter' luck is unnatural! He's a freak, I tell you! They'll all regret not listening to me when he finally snaps and kills everybody! You'll see.

Forrest Angelo says that it's Friday the 13th, and that's why I'm having such wretched luck. I had never heard this before; he says, yes, it's an old superstition. I told him that my luck is _always_ wretched, but thanks anyway.

**Thursday, September 19: Common Room**

I'm so angry I think I might cry. It's an odd sensation, really, but I actually feel like bawling (something I haven't done since I was two).

Potter got a package this morning. So, I cornered him. Wanted to know what it was. Would you like to guess? Go on, guess!

Me: That's a broomstick. You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them.

Weasley: It's not any old broomstick, it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus.

He was right, of course, but that only made me angrier.

Me: What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle. I suppose you and your brothers have to save up, twig by twig.

Professor Flitwick chose that moment to appear next to me.

Flitwick: Not arguing, I hope, boys?

Me: Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor.

Flitwick: Yes, yes, that's right. Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?

Potter: A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir. And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it.

I hate Harry Potter.

Potter has now been made the seeker for Gryffindor. First years aren't allowed to play Quidditch! They aren't allowed to have brooms! He's never even written a novel.

It took me years to become as good a flyer as I am. I've practiced 'till my hands bled (Okay, not really, but you get the gist, no?) and Harry Potter is better than me on his first day! And now he's got my position. My racing broom! My Nimbus 2000!

You know what makes it sting the most? It hurts because, you see, it's all my fault. I did it to myself. Mea culpa, mea culpa.

I truly, truly hate him.


	3. Chapter the Third

**Saturday, September 21: The Dorm**

I feel a little better today. The shock's worn off, I think. Potter looks so smug, with his broomstick and his Seeker position. He thinks he sooooo great! Uhhh! I hate him. I hope he falls off his broom and his glasses jam into his head and he _dies_!

Sorry, that's not what I wanted to write about. I am actually supposed to be furious at Nott, again. Just can't muster the energy to hate two people with every fiber of my being at the same time, for some reason.

He hung a beautiful banner in the Slytherin common room, on which the words "Thanks to Malfoy for Gryffindor's New Seeker" were written in sparkling, gold lettering. I walked in just as Pansy was trying to rip it down. Before I could see, she had bunched it up and hidden it behind her back.

Me: Alright Pansy, what is it?

Pansy: What is… What is what?

Me: pointing to the enormous bundle of cloth That. What's it say?

Pansy: Oh Draco, it's not really important. Well, I mean, it isn't… What I mean is, I don't think you should…. What I mean is, you just get so emotional, sometimes, and…

Me: I do not!

Pansy: Yes, you do. I know you. You'll take it personally. C'mon, let's just go to breakfast. C'mon, Draye, let it go.

She called me Draye. That's when I started to worry. Was it a picture of me in my underwear, perhaps?

I did, eventually, get a hold of the banner. It didn't bother me so much as Pansy thought it would. Especially since I walked by an empty classroom just as Forrest Angelo was telling Nott off for being so nasty to me.

I knew I liked him.

**Later Saturday**

A picture of me in my underwear… Yes! That's what I'll do! No, no, I'm not going to post a picture of myself! I'm going to post a picture of Nott in his underwear in the common room. Yeah!

Cue maniacal laughter. I'm baaaaaaaaack!

**Sunday, September 22: The Dorm**

I swear, I have the weirdest dreams! Yes, yes, ANOTHER freaky dream.

This one started off as I was walking through Malfoy Mansion. I looked into a mirror to make sure I looked all right for company, because Filch was coming for tea. My reflection scowled at me and, suddenly, looking back at me was Potter with his broomstick.

I watched as he got on it and smirked at me, then I thought "Oh, it's not a mirror. It's a portrait,".

As soon as I thought that, Potter laughed and turned into Father, who said, "Oh, you're sure are you? Isn't this what you wanted to see? You're Draco Malfoy. Son of a Slytherin, son of a Slytherin, son of a Slytherin, son of a Slytherin… But, you might make a good Hufflepuff."

Then he turned into Professor Quirrell, whose turban unwound and leapt like a snake out of the portrait at me. I tried to run, but the hallway was all a circle and I wasn't going anywhere. Theodore Nott's voice was saying, "If you don't understand…" and Forrest Angelo clapped me on the shoulder and said, "It's because it's Friday the 13th."

"No!" I said. "No, it's not Friday the 13th!"

"Too bad then, Sherisse." Said Forrest, now wearing Great-Aunt Adeline's dressing gown. "I suppose you're a black sheep. The phoenix is rising."

Then he sprouted wings and flew away. I kept running in a circle forever, with the portraits (or perhaps they were mirrors) laughing hysterically. Then I realized that I was really running on the inside of the ring that Great-Aunt Adeline had given me, on which there was inscribed the words, "Toujours Pur".

Suddenly the gold began to melt and everything ran off of the sides. I realized that holding the ring was Mother, staring at me.

"Mum!" I screamed. "Help me!"

But she laughed and tossed the ring away.

Then I slipped on the gold and fell into the purple stone, and drowned there.

Like I said. Odd. Wouldn't dream interpreters have fun with that? Do you think, maybe, it means I'm crazy?

No, it probably just means I need to stop snacking late at night.

**Monday, September 23: Hospital Wing**

I was walking down the hallway today, when suddenly I realized that I had sprouted a tail. Headed off towards the hospital wing, growing scales as I went. Somebody jinxed me when I wasn't looking. Low Nott. Brilliant. But _low_.

**Later Monday: The Dorm**

Told Pansy about my dream. She thinks it _does_ mean something. She made me rummage through my trunk to find the ring. It is still gaudy and still purple. Of course, "Toujours Pur" wasn't written on the inside, though there was a tiny "S" made with a snake.

"I wonder what that means." Pansy mused.

"Duh, Pansy." I said. "My Great-Aunt Adeline was in Slytherin."

"Oh." She said. "Then why isn't it green? Or red, for a phoenix?"

I told her that my Great-Aunt was nutters and the ring probably had nothing to do with a phoenix at all.

"Maybe…" She said, turning the ring over in her palm. "Mind if I hold on to it?"

"No." I said. "Keep the ugly thing."

Pansy has an overactive imagination.

**Saturday, October 5**

You know, I never did post that picture of Nott. I tried, I really did. Except it make me feel like a pervert.

As if I really want a glimpse of Nott in his underwear. Yuck. I am _so_ not like that.

**Thursday, October 10: The Library**

Nott told Tracey Davis about my insistence on sleeping in the middle bed. She says that I clearly suffer from paranoia and possible histrionic tendencies. Now, she and Daphne Greengrass are chasing me around, trying to get me to take a personality disorder test. I am running for my life.

**Still Thursday**

Bwahahah! I have found refuge in the boy's bathroom. They can never make me take that test!

It's dinnertime and I _am_ rather hungry… But, no! I shan't leave my safe haven.

Never. Do you hear me? NEVER!!!

**Still, Still Thursday: Common Room**

So, here are my results:

I rated "Very High" in Paranoid, Histrionic, and Narcissistic. What does this mean?

PARANOID: Paranoid personality disorder is characterized by a distrust of others and a constant suspicion that people around you have sinister motives. People with this disorder tend to have excessive trust in their own knowledge and abilities and usually avoid close relationships with others. They search for hidden meanings in everything and read hostile intentions into the actions of others. They are quick to challenge the loyalties of friends and loved ones and often appear cold and distant to others. They usually shift blame to others and tend to carry long grudges.

Except most of the people around me actually ARE untrustworthy. So, I don't think I'm actually paranoid. Just wary.

HISTRIONIC: People with histrionic personality disorder are constant attention seekers. They need to be the center of attention all the time, often interrupting others in order to dominate the conversation. They use grandiose language to describe everyday events and seek constant praise. They may dress provocatively or exaggerate illnesses in order to gain attention. They also tend to exaggerate friendships and relationships, believing that everyone loves them. They are often manipulative.

Apparently all Slytherins are histrionic. It so doesn't count. I know this _sounds_ like me, but I get it from my father; it's not a disorder.

NARCISSISTIC: Narcissistic personality disorder is characterized by self-centeredness. Like histrionic disorder, people with this disorder seek attention and praise. They exaggerate their achievements, expecting others to recognize them as being superior. They tend to be choosy about picking friends, since they believe that not just anyone is worthy of being their friend. They tend to make good first impressions, yet have difficulty maintaining long-lasting relationships. They are generally uninterested in the feelings of others and may take advantage of them.

Except I AM superior. I'm joking. Kind of.

You know my mom's name is Narcissa, right? That means she's a narcissist! I think I'll refrain from telling her this. Also, doesn't the "choosy about picking friends" thing and the "believing everyone loves them" thing interfere with each other?

This is a load of hippogriff dung.

**Midnight, Thursday-Friday: The Dorm**

But what if it isn't? What if I am a horrible freak of NATURE?!? Oh, well. At least I'm rich.

**Monday, October 14: Defense Against the Dark Arts**

I-I-I th-th-think th-this class is b-b-boring. Can we just put Quirrell out of his misery? Please! Why did he ever seem threatening in that dream? Oh, well. I don't suppose it means anything. I mean, Filch was coming over for _tea_!

Even so, this class is pathetic. The only thing we're doing today is

_Hey Draye! What's up?_

Pansy, you're going to get us in Detention!

_No way! Quirrell's too wimpy for that_.

Agreed. Still, I don't like you writing in

_I've been looking up information on your Aunt's ring._

Stop taking the book while I'm writing! And I told you Adeline is crazy. There isn't anything to look up!

_Oh, yeah? Well then, I guess you don't want to know what I_

No, not really. Bye!

**Still Monday: Care of Magical Creatures**

Here's the thing with Pansy. She's my friend and all, but I'm wondering: What can Pansy gain from solving this "mystery". How does it benefit her?

I mean, Pansy is one of the more trustworthy Slytherins, but she's still a Slytherin. Therefore, she must have some ulterior motive somewhere... So, does that make me paranoid? No.

Just wary.

**Tuesday, October 22: Common Room**

Life is boring. I can't wait for the Quidditch season to start! Potter's going to get beaten into the ground. At least Halloween's coming up.

Nott managed to charm the curtains 'round my bed to keep me trapped there. Luckily, Professor Snape heard my anguished pleas for help three hours later. Good thing too. I really had to go to the bathroom!

My revenge will be swift and painful.

**Friday, October 25: Potions**

Pansy keeps chasing me around telling me to "Listen, Draye! Listen!" and shoving textbooks in my face. I refuse to look at any "discoveries" about my Great-Aunt Adeline. She is BARKING and I'm not wasting my time chasing some imaginary clue to some nonexistent mystery.

Sorry Pansy. You'll get over it.

**Thursday, October 31: Common Room**

I was marvelously pleased with the Halloween feast. The food was wonderful and, of course, the decorations were first rate. But, somehow, a troll got loose in the school and we had to finish in our dormitories. Shame, really.

We're starting a betting pool on how the troll got in here.

It's Another Weasley Prank- 22 votes

It's A Plot By An Evil Wizard- 1 vote (Pansy, of course)

It's Hagrid's Fault- 16 votes

It Just Got In, Idiots- 8 votes

It's Potter's Fault- 10 votes

We'll Never Know- 3 votes

**Later Thursday**

Lost my money. The three "We'll Never Know" people won. Nobody'll tell us anything.

It's strange. I knew Hermione Granger was a weird, but I didn't think she was _insane_. She went after that troll, all by herself! And, of course, Hero Potter and Weasley went off to save her and won some points for Gryffindor.

My response: Oh, for Merlin's sake! What would we do without Potter to save our bottoms? _Honestly_.

**Saturday, November 2: The Dorm**

BWAHAHAHAH!!! DIE NOTT, DIE!!! I HAVE HAD MY REVENGE!!!

I charmed his slippers to munch his ickle digits when he put them on. This is the second time this year he's had to have parts of his body regrown because of me. Am I good, or am I good?

**Tuesday, November 5: The Great Hall**

When did Granger become friends with Potty and Weasel-Face? I thought they hated each other. I suppose there's something about almost getting your head bashed in by a troll together. If only I was so lucky.

I'm joking of course.

**Friday, November 8: The Dorm**

Ouch! Poor Professor Snape. When I went into his office today, he was nursing some horrible creature bite across his leg. It looked bloody sickening.

And Pansy complains about not being allowed in the Forbidden Forrest. I bet she wouldn't if she saw Snape's leg! Whatever got him is probably still out there!

Oh, the insanity.

**Later Friday: The Common Room**

Gryffindor vs. Slytherin is tomorrow. Marcus Flint, the team captain, was giving a pep talk in the Common Room. I told him not to bother, as Potter has freakish luck. He told me not to be so negative.

I'm not negative, though. Just a realist. Anyway, I've resigned myself to the fact that Perfect Potter is, well, perfect. I can't seem to look at Terrance Higgs, the Slytherin seeker, without shaking my head sadly.

He says this is most unnerving.

**Saturday, November 9: Common Room**

Well, Potter won. He almost died, but he won. I am not shocked, in any way. Except for he swallowed the Snitch, which is apparently legal. When I am older, I will make this a fowl. Or a penalty, or _something_. Then who'll be the best, Potter? Huh? Huh? That's right! ME!

It was really odd, though. Potter's broom started going crazy during the match! Tried to kill him! At first, I thought it was Slytherins doing, but that's Dark magic, you see. I grew up around it; I can tell.

Who at Hogwarts knows that kind of powerful Dark magic? Snape, probably, and

Dumbledore. Of course, Dumbledore wouldn't want Potter hurt. But Snape… No. I just can't see him doing that kind of thing, even if he does hate Potter.

I think I'll write Father and slip it in somehow. You know, "Hey, how are you? I'm fine. You know, Harry Potter almost died today. Isn't that interesting? Hint, hint. Nudge, nudge". Maybe he'll clue me in.

But I doubt it.

* * *

Oh, by the by, Draco's results are courtesy of the "Personality Disorder Test" which can be found on my best friend, Google. Yes, I did actually take it as him and, no, I'm not obsessed. Well... maybe just a little.


	4. Chapter the Fourth

**Monday, November 11: Library**

The Slytherins are all moping around. Saw Terrence Higgs slinking through the hallway. I clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Better luck next time, mate". He gave me a rather nasty look.  
  
How very rude! I did warn him, after all. Git.

**Later Monday: Common Room**

On another note, no one seems to find my jokes about a wide mouthed tree frog replacing Potter as Seeker very funny. The Slytherins are too MAD for jokes and everyone else is too HAPPY. What is this world coming to?  
  
Hogwarts seems to be filled with great rejoicing at our loss. Bah. Stupid, anti-Slytherin... _people_!

**Tuesday, November 12: The Dorm**

I just realized something. It is exactly one week until my birthday! I will finally be eleven like everyone else in this stupid school! Pansy mentioned this in front of Nott. He said that explains why I am so puny.  
  
I hate him.

**Later Tuesday**

I am not puny! I'm just a little short! _Really_!

**Thursday, November 14: Transfiguration**

I wonder what's going to happen on this birthday. Will Father invite me to come home? I thought he might but time's running out. Maybe they'll just send me presents?  
  
But what will they send me? Books? Money? What?

**Still Thursday: Break**

Maybe Father hasn't written me because it's something really big. Like a RACING BROOM! Maybe he's convinced Dumbledore to let me have one! Potter got one, why shouldn't I?  
  
I am trying not to get my hopes up.

**Saturday, November 16: The Dorm**

Still no letter.  
  
I am starting to get worried. It's either something big or... No. No, it is something big and I firmly believe it.

**Sunday, November 17: Common Room**

My birthday is tomorrow! I am extremely excited! Really, I can't wait! Racing broom, here I come!

**Monday, November 18: DADA Class**

Happy birthday to me!  
  
It's a little strange that nothing came for me in the owl post. Except Mother's weekly sweets, of course. No more or less than usual.  
  
However, who sends presents in the owl post? I'll bet that I've got a pile of gifts back in the dorm room. Just biding my time!

**Still Monday: Break**

Pansy gave me her gift. It's a tiny, plushy me. She calls it "Mini-Draco". It toddles around in its Slytherin robes and occasionally shouts things like "Gryffindor sucks", "Slytherin pride", and "Die, Potter, Die".  
  
Crabbe and Goyle gave me a box of half-eaten chocolate frogs. I was touched at their kindness. After all, they left half the box for me.  
  
Maybe I'll nip back to the Dorm before Potions and see if my presents have arrived.

**Later Monday: The Dorm**

All right, why have Mother and Father's presents not come yet? I've gotten several from random relatives, but absolutely nothing from my own parents. Maybe our owl died. Maybe... _all_ of our owls died?  
  
You don't suppose they've forgotten? I know that's what it looks like, but I just can't believe that my own parents would forget my birthday! It must be some kind of mistake. It just couldn't be _that_.

**Wednesday, November 20: Common Room**

Apparently it _could_ be that. I am so livid. I may never speak to my parents again.  
  
Both Forrest and Pansy are trying desperately to cheer me up. It's not really working. It is interesting to note that, while Pansy insists that my parents deserve to die a horrible and painful death, Forrest keeps telling me to forgive them.  
  
How on earth did he end up in Slytherin?

**Saturday, November 23: The Dorm**

Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw was today. I went, hoping it'd take my mind of my crummy life. I couldn't decide who I wanted to win. I came into Hogwarts with utter disdain for Hufflepuff, but now I think Ravenclaws are more annoying. I hate them both.  
  
Oh, yes. Ravenclaw won. Roger Davies is a pretty decent seeker, if you ask me. And he had to work for it. Unlike a certain "Boy Who Lived" we all know.

**Monday, December 9: The Great Hall**

McGonagall's started taking names for those staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. I went ahead and wrote my name down. Father and Mother (who I am still furious with, by the way) apparently feel no need to be with their, now eleven-year-old, only son during Christmas. Well, fine. I don't need them.

**Wednesday, December 11: The Dorm**

Mini-Draco snuck into Transfiguration class in my bag. I didn't notice until people started complaining that something was biting their ankles. Then I heard the all-too-familiar voice shrieking, "You pathetic fools will all pay! Pay, I tell you!".  
  
Pansy is rethinking her gift.

**Thursday, December 12: Potions**

Got a letter from Father. He basically said everything but "Happy Birthday" and "Merry Christmas". Instead, he told me to "Work tirelessly" and "uphold the family name". He also informed me that he and Mother were going on holiday in the Alps. I was not invited, apparently.  
  
Mother sent candy.

**Later Thursday: The Dorm**

I've misplaced my anger again. Said something like, "I do feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home," loudly as he walked by. Crabbe and Goyle snickered appropriately.  
  
Pansy later pointed out that, yes that applied to Potter, but didn't it also apply to me?  
  
I told her to shut it. _Her_ parents are probably taking _her_ to the Alps. My parents might not even be going to the Alps; they're probably going to an Evil Convention or something equally as nasty.  
  
Then, because I never learn and never shall, I picked a fight with Weasley. This time it turned out in my favor. He lost five points, thanks to Snape. I love getting away with things.  
  
And I didn't really insult his family; I insulted his state of living. They are dirt poor, so why shouldn't I say so? Honestly, everyone's minds work so oddly around here.

**Monday, December 16: The Great Hall**

Well, Pansy's gone. So is Forrest, so now we've lost our only voices of reason.  
  
We are all doomed.  
  
I hate this time of year. It's much too cold and dreary.

**Friday, December 20: The Dorm**

I'm bored. My parents hate me. They'll probably forget about Christmas, too. My worst enemy stayed over Christmas Break too and is having the time of his life. Talking to Crabbe and Goyle is like talking to a wall. My only present, intelligent roommate is a jerk who calls me "munchkin".

My life is bloody _Hades_.

**Tuesday, December 24: Common Room**

I suppose I can pull myself from the depths of depression for Christmas Day. But not because I have holiday spirit. I'm just happy about the food.

**Wednesday, December 25: The Dorm**

Christmas Day! I have now stuffed myself and am quite content. This was the best banquet yet; even I'll admit it! And several of the teachers got drunk. This was quite amusing.  
  
Got loads of presents. Father sent me books and Mum sent me a basket of candy bigger than my head. I've forgiven her; she really does love me, I think. But I'm still not speaking to Father. Most of the books are on the Dark Arts. Maybe I can find some use for them.  
  
Like _firewood_.  
  
One of my relatives sent me a sphere-like thing, and I'm not quite sure what it does. I think it is probably illegal. Which isn't at all terribly unlikely. This _is_ the Malfoy family, after all.

Let's see, what else did I get. Well, a frightening amount of people gave me clothes, others sent me bags of money, and Great-Aunt Adeline sent me a bus ticket from 1948.  
  
Whatever.  
  
Forrest sent me a gift, too. Shocked me, really. It's an oddly shaped piece of money with strange writing on it. He included a note:  
  
_"There's a legend that says keeping this coin with you will ward of bad fortune. Hope it helps you a little with your 'wretched luck'!"_  
  
I immediately slipped a piece of string through the hole in the middle and hung it round my neck. It's probably my favorite present, which I think is odd, as it's worth tons less than the rest.  
  
All in all, a good day. Probably the best day I've had since I started Hogwarts, actually. Who needs the stupid Alps? I intend to lie around all evening and play with my presents. Isn't life grand?  
  
I can't believe I just said that.

**Thursday, December 26: Great Hall**

I had another weird dream last night. Everything was black and I couldn't see anything. I was all alone in the dark, lost and wandering. But, for some unexplainable reason, I was happy. I was so very happy but so very, very sad, as well.  
  
When I woke up, I was in Entrance Hall, curled up on a stair. I think I must have eaten something odd at the feast.

**Friday, December 27: Break**

The same dream again. The same odd feeling. Woke up in the Muggle Studies classroom, this time.

**Saturday, December 28: Common Room**

This is getting annoying. I was propped up against the door to Quirrell's office when I woke up this morning. I seem to be climbing, floor-by-floor. Then again, last night was a bit different. There were whispered voices all around me, but I just couldn't hear what they were saying. And I could swear someone was there somewhere but I just couldn't find them, no matter how hard I tried.  
  
Oddly, I felt this nagging disappointment when I woke up. Which can only mean one thing. I think these creepy dreams are finally over.

**Monday, December 30: The Dorm**

I can't wait for classes to start again. It's monstrously boring around here. I almost miss those all out odd dreams.  
  
I think Mini-Draco is starting to annoy Nott. It constantly commands him to "Eat dung".

**Wednesday, January 1: The Library**

The dreams are back. Well, more specifically, I'm having more dreams.

This time, Malfoy Mansion was on fire. I could hear Father and Mother screaming and shouting, and that same cruel voice I heard in that first dream at the very beginning of the year was whispering to me again. Laughing at me, because I couldn't find my parents and I knew I never would.  
  
It was so _creepy_.

**Thursday, January 2: Common Room**  
  
I had that nightmare again last night. At least I don't sleepwalk with these, I guess. Remind me not to tell Pansy about this. She'd say it has something to do with Aunt Adeline's ring and perhaps I'm possessed. I really don't need to deal with that right now.

**Friday, January 3: The Dorm**

The students are back. I thanked Forrest for his present. He looked quite taken aback. Honestly, am I that much of a brat?  
  
Nobody answer that.

**Monday, January 6: DADA Class**

I think I might seriously be going insane. I mean, I know it's just a dream, but it's so real I can feel my skin burning and I just keep having it, over and over again. You'd think it wouldn't be so terrible after having it six nights in a row. But, for some reason, it feels even worse. Just thinking about it makes me feel queasy.

**Wednesday, January 8: Transfiguration**

These nightmares are starting to affect my schoolwork, I think. Either that, or I'm really stupid and just never noticed before. And I'm so good in Potions, too! I have to do something about this.

**Later Wednesday: The Dorm**

Forrest cornered me after class. Apparently, my screaming in my sleep for the past eight nights has gotten him worried. He wanted to know about the nightmares and, when I told him, he gave me this really disturbed look.  
  
"It's just a dream," I told him. "Really, it's no big deal. It doesn't affect me at all."  
  
All of a sudden he pulled my failed Potion's test out of my hand and held it to my face.  
  
"Oh, really? Because I didn't know your IQ could drop this suddenly. Are you on drugs, maybe, or have you suddenly become a drunkard?"  
  
I'm not quite sure what he meant by "on drugs", but I must say, Forrest Angelo makes a forceful point. We went to Madam Pomfrey and got her to prescribe a sleeping drought. Hopefully it works.  
  
I think I understand how Forrest is in Slytherin now. He can be right scary when he wants to be. I'm so proud.

**Thursday, January 9: Great Hall**  
  
Wow. I'd forgotten how wonderful in feels to have a full-night's sleep. I am completely restored. And I just realized I haven't played a single prank on Nott in, like, two weeks! I have a lot of catching up to do.  
  
Speaking of Nott, I'm a little creeped out by the fact that the soles of my feet were singed when I woke up this morning. I assume that he did it. Of course, it's probably just a coincidence that my nightmares are of fire. At least, I'm _hoping_ he did it.

**Saturday, January 11: DADA Class**

The Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw game is next Saturday. Marcus Flint has developed a nervous twitch. I was going to tell him not to worry, we'll win, but he shouted that I would jinx him with my negativity. Then the Slytherin Quidditch team threw me out of the common room.  
  
Ingrates. They can't treat me like this! They will all pay. Pay, I tell you!  
  
Did I just sound like Mini-Draco to you?  
  
Anyway, I just finished checking my "mock test". Whoops. Missed a mock question. We just spent forty-five minutes on a test that doesn't even matter.  
  
Stupidity in motion.

* * *

Oh yeah, borrowed a bit from my good friend Thaelia. That part being: "Anyway, I just finished... Stupidity in motion." I just can't help plagiarizing those notes she writes in Math class.


	5. Chapter the Fifth

**Saturday, January 18: The Common Room**

Okay, Pansy has officially lost it. You will not believe where I've been for the past several hours! Well, written here, as an eternal testament to the fact that Pansy rivals my Great-Aunt Adeline in the nutcase department, is my account of the events of last night.

I was walking along, simply minding my own business, when I thought I heard something behind me. This was odd, because I was the only one in this particular passageway. But, before I could turn around, something very hard hit me in the side of the head and I was knocked unconscious.

I awoke to find myself in a broom cupboard, tied fast with unbreakable magic rope. My first thought was that it was Potter and friends, or perhaps someone who wanted to ransom me. _Again_. But… that's another story.

Possibly as a side effect to paranoia, I am always prepared for a potential kidnapping. I find this perfectly rational, you know, especially now. However, I was not prepared for what happened next.

A voice whispered, "Lumos". And, to my shock, in front of me was none other than Pansy. She was sitting in an armchair, partially obscured by shadows, and wearing a slightly maniacal smile. It was quite frightening, I assure you.

"Hello Draco." She said in this really scary voice. "Comfy?"

I was not in fact "comfy", being tightly bound and dumped rather unceremoniously onto the dirty floor. I was about to point out my discomfort, when she answered her own question.

"Good." Her smile widened, causing her to look more than a little mad. "Now Draaaaco, do you know why you're here?"

I shook my head.

"Umm. No."

"Oh, reeeelly? You don't remember a certain ring you asked me to research? The same research you did not want to _hear_ afterwards?"

"Uh, Pansy," I said. "I didn't actually ask you to research…"

"SILENCE!"

At this point, I feared for my life.

"You will listen. I'll make you listen."

Obviously, Pansy has issues with being ignored. It makes her do all sorts of crazy things. And I, naturally, wanted to know what else she was capable of. More specifically, would her head explode if I continued to annoy her?

"In the book _Magical Creatures of Ancient Egypt_…"

I began to serenade her with a song that Forrest taught me.

"This is the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friend. Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was, and they'll continue singing it forever just because...This is the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friend. Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was, and they'll continue singing it forever just because...This is the song that…"

"AAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Unfortunately, she was not amused.

"LISTEN TO ME, DRACO!!!"

"… never ends, yes it goes on and on my friend."

"DRACO MALFOY, YOU STOP! STOP SINGING THAT RIGHT NOW! STOP IT, I SAY!"

"Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was, and they'll continue singing it forever…."

"Fine!" Screamed Pansy. "You can just stay in here until you're ready to listen!"

And then she turned around and stormed out. Having no alternative, I screamed after her.

"JUST BECAUSE… THIS IS THE SONG THAT NEVER ENDS!!!!!"

After a minute, I stopped singing and waited for her to come back and untie me. And waited. And waited.

Pansy did not come back. It was a Friday and, therefore, my teachers did not miss me, so I was in there all night. Finally, about three o'clock Saturday morning, the door opened.

It was Forrest, with Nott in tow, come to save me. I have never been so grateful in all of my life! I think I shall write my memoirs: _Eight Hours As a Houself_.

**Later Saturday: Great Hall**

When I saw Pansy at breakfast this morning, her eyes got really wide and her mouth fell open.

"Oh, Merlin! Draco! I am SO sorry! I totally forgot! I'm so _sorry_! I completely forgot about you!"

Wow. I feel loved. I may never know whether she actually forgot or if this was part of my punishment. I'll forgive her, I guess. After all, I've locked her in plenty of cupboards over the years.

However, I do have one thing to say. THIS is why I have Crabbe and Goyle. And they call me _paranoid_.

**Sunday, January 19: Common Room**

Slytherin won, Ravenclaw lost! This is my first victory celebration and, I must say, it's quite amusing. Professor Snape doesn't seem to mind that the entire common room is decked in green and silver streamers. He also doesn't seem to care that someone's Wizard Wireless has been amplified to such volumes that one cannot hear one's own thoughts.

Marcus Flint said that there is a much better party afterwards, for the team. He says I can't come. I shall, of course, try to find a way to sneak in. Next year, I'll be old enough to play. Then I won't have to sneak.

But for now… They think they can keep me out? Ha!

**Wednesday, January 22: Great Hall**

I was thinking today about something my father told me once. It was in the middle of this long-winded speech about blood traitors and muggles and the eventual undermining of our society. Which does get pretty old by the way. Don't parents have anything better to do than talk about mudbloods?

Well, anyway, what he said was, "If you find you're ignoring the filth under you, you might just be becoming one with it".

Now, that's kind of scary. Especially since, reading back through this journal, I find myself neglecting to mention muggle-borns at all. Let me tell you, there is no way _I'm _becoming a blood traitor. And I have to be really careful! I mean, it practically runs in my family! My mother's sister Andromeda married a muggle, you know.

So, here it is. The solution to this problem!

Draco Malfoy's Reasons To Hate Muggles and Mudbloods

1. It's their fault we have to live in secret and sneak around all the time.

2. Purebloods are the only true wizards.

3. They hate us, why shouldn't we hate them?

4. Muggles are stupid creatures.

5. Granger is a mudblood.

6. …

Well, I'll add more reasons later, I suppose. But that's enough to keep me going for a while. Father would be so proud.

**Monday, January 27: The Library**

I decided that, since Pansy is so _insistent_, I'd at least listen to a little of this "research" of hers. It was… just about what I thought it would be. But, to appease her, I will write it all in.

"I first looked up information on the phoenix," she said. "In _Magical Creatures of Ancient Egypt_, they say that the Phoenix symbolizes immortality, resurrection and life after death. When the Phoenix has lived out its life, it builds its own pyre and throws itself into the flames. As it dies, it is born again, rising from the ashes."

"So, what does that mean to me?" I asked.

"_Well_, I'm not quite sure. But, anyway, the phoenix…"

"So if the phoenix rises," I said. "I suppose that means it's starting a new life."

"Sure it would."

"But what does that mean to _me_?"

"Just hear me out, okay?" She glared at me for a moment. "Okay. Well, umm… I think I've found the reason why the ring is purple. Uhh… It says here that 'Purple signifies deep passion, royalty, and spirit. Purple is also the color of the mystic.' So that's why the ring is purple, I think."

"You're reaching Pansy."

And she really is. She obviously hasn't really discovered anything; it's just her imagination again. Sometimes I worry.

But she continued to drone on about the sun and symbolism. I just tuned her out. I'd much rather concentrate on my next prank for Nott. I'm not going to write it in though, just in case he somehow finds this. But it'll be genius.

**Thursday, January 30: The Dorm**

I think this is my best prank yet. It took a little planning, though. You know, bribing Terrance Higgs to teach me the spell and all that. It was so worth it, though.

During Transfiguration, when he wasn't looking, I charmed Nott's underwear to glow a fluorescent pink color, right through his robes. So he sauntered out of class, completely unaware that everyone was staring at his Falmouth Flacons boxers. And you know what? He didn't even notice until we got back to the dorm room and he walked by a mirror.

Unfortunately, Professor Flitwick did notice. He called me into his office later, where he attempted to show me the error of my ways.

"Now, Draco," He said. "I know you cast that charm on Mr. Nott today."

I nodded.

"And while that was brilliant and quite advanced, oh don't shake your head boy. It was very impressive. You might have a future in Charms, that you might. Brilliant, quite brilliant."

"Thank you..."

"Yes, yes, of course. I'm actually very impressed with you. Not many first years could… Well, anyway, it was _wrong_, you know. Yes, very wrong. And Draco let me ask you something."

"Sir?"

"Do you feel fulfilled, Draco? Or are you truly searching for something else? Does doing these things make you… _happy_?"

Honestly, professor? Do you want to know the truth?

"Absobloodylutely."

**Monday, February 17: The Dorm**

It occurs to me that I have let this journal slip a bit. Well, what did you expect? A day-by-day account of my life? How dull.

Nott has been pestering me again. He put a large rat down my shirt during Care of Magical Creatures and, since the Slytherins had snuck the rats out of their cages for similar purposes, I couldn't get it out until after class. It scurried around in my robes all period, disgusting me to no end.

I stumbled into the seemingly empty common room afterwards, ranting to myself. I to proceeded to plot my revenge out loud. Didn't realize Aino Moon, Pansy's roommate, was there until she spoke.

"You know," She said in a dull voice. "They say talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity."

I jumped, then turned to glare at her.

"I am _not_ going insane."

She blinked her dark, scary eyes at me.

"Denial is the second."

**Tuesday, February 18: Common Room**

Maybe it's the paranoia again, but I could swear the Slytherins are looking at me funny. They seem to be avoiding me for some reason. I checked and Nott hasn't turned my hair a bright shade of blue or anything. I guess it's just my imagination. Again.

Merlin's beard, I'm turning into Pansy.

**Thursday, February 20: The Library**

Then again, maybe I'm not imagining it at all. You know all of those stares and whispers. Yeah. Maybe it has something to do with my "torrid affair" with Professor Snape.

Who believes this? Who _believes_ this?!?

When I get my hands on Theodore Nott, he is going to pay. Nobody spreads rumors about Draco Malfoy and gets away with it! I will make his life a living hell! He will wish he had never been _conceived_!

And why do all of the Slytherins believe him? Pansy says he had "proof". Like what? Pictures?

Oh god.

**Later Thursday: The Dorm**

Blew up at Longbottom outside the library. I put the Leg-Locker Curse on him and left him there. It occurred to me a few hours later that he might still be there, but I ran by later and he was gone. So I _guess_ he's okay.

Pansy says I need to stop misplacing my anger.

**Saturday, February 22**

The game was marvelously short. I really had no desire to watch Potter win again, so I took Crabbe and Goyle with me into the Gryffindor section and accidentally-on-purpose jabbed Weasley in the back of the head.

Me: Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there.

Weasley: …

Me: Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?

Weasley: …

Me: You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team? It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money- you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains.

Longbottom went bright red but somehow managed to reply this time.

Longbottom: I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy.

Weasley: not looking You tell him, Neville.

How am I supposed to wind Weasley up if he's paying attention to the stupid game! Can't he tell when I want to fight?!?

Me: Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something.

Weasley: I'm warning you Malfoy- one more word-

Then Potter made a dive.

Me: You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!

Then he snapped. He jumped me and wrestled me down, punches flying everywhere.

I was too busy pounding on his face to notice the game. We were actually rolling around under Granger's seat when Potter caught the Snitch, so I didn't see anything.

Somebody pried us apart eventually and I had to pay Marcus Flint to heal my black eye (as we haven't been taught how to do this yet). It's all right though. When I left, Weasley's nose was bleeding like crazy!

I have a newfound respect for Longbottom. When Weasley and I started fighting, he climbed over the back of his chair and tackled Goyle. So he took on both my goons, at the same time. I am now faced with a painfully difficult decision. Respect Longbottom or get new goons?

**Monday, February 24: Library**

This is starting to become unbearable. I was sitting in the Common Room this afternoon, working on my Potions paper, when Montague leaned over my shoulder. He then proceeded to tear my parchment from my hand.

"Working on Potions, are we?" He said nastily. "Oh, I forgot. You work for it _outside _class."

"Insolent fool! You cannot speak of the great Draco Malfoy that way," screamed Mini-Draco, jumping out of my bag and onto Montague's nose.

"Hey!" Shouted Tracey Davis. "I'll bet that's why he's top of the class!"

"Yeah," said Daphne Greengrass. "That's totally it."

Then they all turned on me.

"It's not fair!" "You should be ashamed of yourself!" "Have you no pride?" "Just because you and Professor Snape-."

"I AM NOT HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH SNAPE!!!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.

"The hell you're not."

Professor Snape was standing in the doorway, an odd look on his face. Everyone was silent for a moment.

"Of _course_ he isn't," Montague drawled, pulling Mini-Draco out of his hair and hurling into my bag. "Of _course_ not."

I took the opportunity to grab my things and escape to the library. All of the Slytherins cleared out the second I walked in. One of them purposely rammed into me as he went by.

Why am I so oppressed?

**Thursday, February 27: Great Hall**

Pansy is deliciously evil. Also handy. You see, she has this almost hypnotic ability to convince people that whatever she says is right. And while I never found this useful _before_, I fully appreciate it now.

She has informed the Slytherins that it was Nott who was having the torrid affair, not me.

"I found him out," She says. "And so he had to cover it up, you know. I have _proof_."

For some unexplainable reason, they believed it. They didn't even ask what the proof was! Which is even _more_ proof that our society is deteriorating.

So I don't think I'll have to worry about that rumor anymore. Only I might have to worry about Nott. All through class today, he kept sending me slips of parchment with little skulls and crossbones on them and making slashing motions across his throat while pointing at me.

I fear him, I truly do.

* * *

Special thanks to the websites _Lair of the Phoenix_ and _Color Symbolism_ for info in this chapter. I have this evil tendency to over-think my fics. Bless you for making it easier. 


	6. Chapter the Sixth

**Sunday, April 12: The Dorm**

Exams are coming up and the teachers have started assigning homework by the broom load, which is why I haven't written for a while. It's finally here! Easter holiday! I can relax long enough to write.

Not that I call this actual relaxation. I still have homework! On Easter! I _hate _History of Magic. Why does this class exist? Why is Professor Bins teaching it?!?

Spent the morning chucking pinecones at passing students with Crabbe and Goyle. Then Pansy and I skipped dinner and played exploding snap. It was all too amusing.

Too bad these days will soon be past, as I will be crushed under the stifling weight of homework assigned by our overzealous educators.

**Wednesday, May 2**

Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin was today. The team _must_ have been off today, because we actually lost to the idiots! You know, when _I'm_ on the team, Hufflepuff will shake in fear at the mere mention of a match.

I think Marcus Flint is incompetent. And not just because he doesn't seem to like me, either. Why is it that I seem to make enemies wherever I go?

**Tuesday, May 7: Common Room**

This is horrible! It's catastrophic! It's the end of the _world_! Pansy says I'm being dramatic, but she doesn't understand. She does not yet know the magnitude of this horrific event!

WE'RE ALL GETTING SHOTS!!!

Apparently, someone came back from the Easter holidays with some muggle sickness I've never heard of. It's spread like wildfire through the Slytherin house, striking down many in its wake. Can you believe it took them this long to figure out what it was? I mean, for gods sakes.

But, because the administration is filled with imbeciles, we are being lined up and given "floo shots" over the next couple of weeks. Like we have rabies! This is so undignified.

**Friday, May 8: Herbology**

Well, this might just make the shot thing worth it. When I was on the way to class I noticed that the Potter Three all had their heads together and where whispering furiously. Well, curiosity overtook me and I decided to... overhear a bit of the conversation. This is what I caught.

Weasley: ...going to see a dragon hatching?"

Granger: We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing –

Potter: Shut up!

Then they stared at me for a moment and hurried off. I will be trailing them for the rest of the day. It's only natural.

**Later Friday: Common Room**

Oh, Potter's in for it now. I know what he's up to this time! As soon as I got to break, I saw them rushing of towards Hagrid's hut.

Following at a safe distance, I saw them hurry inside. I snuck over to the window and, standing on tiptoes, looked trough the gap in the curtain. On the table lay an egg, large cracks covering most of it. Then, suddenly, it broke in half and a tiny dragon pulled itself onto the table.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid whispered. The dragon bit at his fingers.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" He exclaimed.

"Hagrid," said Granger warily, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

He opened his mouth to answer but stopped short, staring right at me. I saw him get up to rush over and turned away. As I scrambled up the hill, I could still hear his voice carrying after me.

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains -- it's a kid --he's runnin' back up ter the school!"

Well, I know now. And they _know_ I know. What could be better? I think a little blackmail might be in order.

**Thursday, May 14**

Weasley's in the Hospital Wing with a "dog bite". Of course, we all know what really bit him now don't we. I decided to go visit him. You know, comfort him in his time of need.

I am _such_ a good person.

Though I'm afraid Weasley didn't really appreciate this sentiment.

"You ruddy liar! You didn't come to borrow a book," He said, once Madam Pomfrey had left. "You came to laugh at me!"

Well, that too.

"Of course, of course I did," I said, giving him my best smirk. "But, I wonder, Weasley. What _would _Madam Pomfrey do if she knew what _really_ bit you?"

"You wouldn't dare," he hissed angrily.

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Grinning to myself, I pulled up a seat.

"So, Weasley. I'm curious. What makes you think you'll get away with it?"

"Why haven't you told already, if you want to get us in trouble so badly?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?

"You're such a _git_."

Then he got this happy look on his face. He reached for his bedside table and shoved a book into my chest.

"Hullo, Madame Pomfrey! Got my medicine? No worries, Malfoy was_ just_ leaving."

On my way back to the dungeons, a slip of parchment fell out of the book.

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter -- I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Charlie_

Weasley, you idiot.

**Saturday, May 16: The Dorm**

Why? Why is this happening to me? I had completely forgotten my horrible fate. I only have a short time to write this. I can hear them coming up the stairs at I speak. My barricade will only hold for a moment. I must write this letter while I am still able.

To Whom It May Concern:

I, Draco Malfoy, a resident and citizen of Wiltshire, Great Britain, being of sound mind and disposing memory, do hereby make, publish and declare this instrument to be my last will and testament, hereby revoking any and all wills and codicils by me at any time heretofore made.

Item On-

**Later Saturday: Hospital Wing**

Blast! They've caught me. I am now trapped, waiting like a lamb for the inevitable syringe to pierce my tender flesh. Professor Snape, the same brute who burst open my door, invading my stronghold and dragging me pleading into the belly of the beast, watches over me now.

"Oh, suck it up, Malfoy," he says.

He is also reading over my shoulder.

I, for one, refuse to simply "suck it up"! I will not suffer in silence! This is unethical! We are in a magical school. Why has no one invent a magical, _painless_ way of doing this? They have! They HAVE! This is really a sadistic torture session! Hogwarts is not safe! The world is _evil_! This whole epidemic is a conspiracy! Everything you've ever known is a LIE! Rise up, my people! RISE UP!

Oh no. I'm next. Save me, mummy! NOOOOOO!!!

I hate the Floo.

**Still Saturday: Common Room**

My arm hurts! They could have at _least_ eased the pain. People can be such jerks sometimes.

But, on a lighter note, tonight is the night that Potter is going to try sneaking out the dragon. All I have to do is sneak out and catch them in the act. I may loose a few points, but he'll get expelled!

It's foolproof, I tell you.

**Sunday, May 17: Snape's Apartments **

Okay, so maybe it wasn't _completely_ foolproof. I was so close, probably just ten feet away from the tower! Suddenly, a hand grabbed the back of my robes. Professor McGonagall was standing over me, wearing a hair net and a tartan bathrobe.

"Malfoy! What do you think you're doing!"

"Umm..."

She grabbed a hold of my ear, which really, really _hurt _by the way.

"Detention!" she shrieked. "And 20 points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you..."

"You don't understand, Professor," I tried to explain, struggling to get my ear free. "Harry Potter's coming- he's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on - I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

Then, still holding tight to my ear, she dragged me all the way back to the Slytherin dungeons, made me say the password, and then stomped right over to Snape's door and rapped angrily. Snape pulled open the door, looking very cross indeed and wearing a black bathrobe.

"Minerva, for Merlin's sake, do you _know_ what time it is?"

She shoved me into the room. Snape looked down at me dully for a moment.

"Malfoy," he nodded by way of greeting.

"This one," McGonagall said. "Was in the upper astronomy tower. He _says_ he was looking for Potter, who he _claims _has a dragon."

Snape took a moment to process this information. He looked from me to McGonagall, then back. For a moment he seemed to be lost in a thought or memory. Then he turned back to her, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," he said. "_Does_ Potter have a dragon?"

McGonagall stared at him.

"I don't know."

"Then go _back_ to the Gryffindor Tower and see if Potter's there. He won't be, I assure you. And if he isn't," his eyes glittered maliciously. "Then we'll just have to _deal_ with him now won't we."

"Fine," said McGonagall briskly. "I'll do that. Wait up, will you?"

Snape grunted in annoyance. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me roughly into a chair.

"Don't you move, Malfoy."

And I haven't. I have been sitting here for nearly an hour now. Snape is sitting across from me, looking murderous because he has to watch me. Potter had better get caught; this _cannot_ be for nothing.

**Tuesday, May 26: Common Room**

Got a note at breakfast this morning.

"Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall."

I hate Professor McGonagall. I want to burn her in effigy. (Note: In effigy only. No messy homicides. The stars forbid it.) Is that wrong?

Muhhahahahaaa! Yeees. I will make a stick representation of her, and I will burn it and take the smoldering remains and put them in a box. Then I will send that box to Bolivia, where my loyal minions will toss it off the Alps and then another minion waiting will stomp it into effigial dust. And spit on that dust. Ptooey!

If I ever HAD rabies and was about to die a snarling, foaming animal, I would bite her first. Would you believe my arm STILL hurts?!

**Wednesday, May 27: The Dorm**

What a night I've had. You wouldn't believe the abuse that has been heaped upon my head. It all started when I showed up for my detention, punctual as usual. And of course Potter and the Gruesome Gryffs were late, forcing me to endure Filch, our very own more than slightly psychotic caretaker, and his rant about punishment in the "good ol' days".

"Follow me," said Filch, when they finally showed up, lighting a lamp and leading us outside. He continued his speech as he went. Something about how he still had the chains from when the would hang students from the ceiling and pain being the best teacher.

So we went marching off, with Longbottom sniffling and me worrying. I mean, I've never heard Filch sound so cheerful! I had to wonder what kind of vicious torture was in store.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

'Hagrid?' I thought. 'Why Hagrid?'

Potter seemed immensely pleased with this prospect.

"I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf?" Filch sneered. "Well, think again, boy -- it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

I stopped short on hearing this. Longbottom give a little moan of fright. We were going _where_?

"The forest?" I asked incredulously. "We can't go in there at night -- there's all sorts of things in there -- werewolves, I heard."

"That's your problem, isn't it? Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Just then Hagrid walked up with Fang, his boarhound, and a huge crossbow.

"Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Hermione?"

Oh great. Playing favorites. That's professional.

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch in a nasty voice, "They're here to be punished, after all. I'll be back at dawn for what's _left_ of them."

I then attempted to entreat Hagrid. And this exchange went… nowhere.

Me: I'm not going in that forest.

Hagrid: Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts. Yeh've done wrong an' now yehve got ter pay fer it.

Me: But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd…

Hagrid: …tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts. Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or Yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on.

I glared at him. He knows full well that my father would _murder_ me if I got kicked out. Actually, he really might. So, I lost that round.

He brought us to the edge of the forest and pointed down a trail.

"Look there," he said, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" I asked, scared quite out of my wits by now.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions."

"I want Fang," I said quickly. That thing has teeth enough to protect me, I supposed.

"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward. 'So me, Harry, an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh."

Longbottom, Fang, and I went to the right. We meandered around a bit, Longbottom shivering with terror the entire time. It got rather annoying after a while, especially since we hadn't found anything and I was bored.

So I decided to play a little… _joke_ on Neville Longbottom. When he was looking warily in the opposite direction, I snuck up behind him.

"Haaah!" I screamed and grabbed him.

"AAAAHHH!!!!" He squealed, and the stupid dolt shot up red sparks.

"Longbottom, you colossal idiot! It's _me_!"

Fang was barking hysterically. I grabbed Longbottom by the shoulders and shook him a little. He just kept screaming.

"AAAAHHH!!!!"

"Longbottom! Snap out of it!"

"AAAAHHH!!!!"

"Longbottom! Longb- Uh, Neville?"

He blinked at me.

"_Malfoy_?"

I really worry about this boy's sanity. A walking bundle of nerves, that he is. One day, he's going to loose it completely. Just then Hagrid came crashing through the trees. Eventually, he got the story out of Longbottom, though it took some effort. He lectured me for a while and then dragged us off behind him. Potter and Granger were still on the path, waiting for us.

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups -- Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an' this idiot."

For gods sakes! It was just a joke! Buy a sense of humor.

We walked along for what must have been half an hour, so deep in that I couldn't even see the sky anymore. The unicorn's blood was getting thicker. The whole path had turned silver with it. Just then, we came to a clearing; we could see it through the trees.

"Look --" Potter whispered, stopping me with his arm.

The unicorn was lying in the center. It had collapsed onto the ground in a pool of it's own blood, with its legs sticking out in all directions. It was a sparkling white, glowing in the dark, and it was very, very dead. I've never seen anything so horribly sad.

I don't really remember inching towards the clearing; I couldn't tear my eyes of the ashen body of the unicorn. I just moved when Potter moved, letting him lead me, completely entranced by the sight before me.

Suddenly, I heard a sound, like a snake uncoiling, from somewhere in the clearing. A dark figure crawled from behind the bushes. Its robes were black and hooded, and it moved like some horrible animal about to pounce.

Next to me, I felt Potter stiffen; he had seen it as well. The figure made it's way to the unicorn, dipped its head to the wound, and started to drink the blood.

"AAAAAAAAAARGH!"

I wasn't even aware that I was the one screaming for a moment, I just turned and ran. I ran and ran, slipping on unicorn blood as I went. I fell in a puddle of it and stumbled to my feet.

I kept running, barely aware of the pain in my knees or Fang's whining. I looked back to see if Potter was following or perhaps even that creature, but couldn't make out anything in the darkness.

_'Got to get away. Got to get away.'_

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain behind my eyes. It was a searing white hot, so much pain that I crumpled to the ground, unable to force my legs to continue running. Never in my life have I felt anything quite like it. I was barely aware of the sound of hooves, of someone gently nudging me. A centaur stood over me.

"Are you hurt child?" He asked in a deep voice.

"No. Y-yes. I mean... My h-head. There's, there's s-something back there. A unicorn's dead and that, that thing… P-Potter's still back there and…"

"The Potter boy?" Bellowed another centaur, coming from my right.

"Bane! Ronan!" said my centaur. "Go! Find the Potter child! I will take this one."

They went galloping off and the one left lifted my from the ground by my arms, dangling me in midair for a moment.

"Can you walk human?"

By then the pounding in my head had dulled. Fang and I followed the centaur out of the woods, finally catching up with Hagrid, Granger, and Longbottom at the fork in the road.

"Magorian," Hagrid said in surprise. "Draco, 'smatter? Where's Harry?"

Everything is still a little fuzzy. I can't remember quite how Hagrid got Longbottom and I to Snape, or when Hagrid and Granger followed Magorian deeper into the forest. All I really remember is Snape carrying me up the stairs to my dorm and Forrest asking him desperately if I was all right.

I didn't even realize for the longest while that I was completely soaked in the unicorn's silvery blood.

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A bit of a serious chapter. Of course, this isn't just a humor fic, no matter how funny I've heard it is. Hopefully, you've figured that out by now, but don't worry if you haven't. I'll start proving it. That said, "I hate- My arm STILL hurts!" is notes from Thaelia, slightly altered, of course.


	7. Chapter the Seventh

This is the last chapter of First Year! What an event! I just think you should all know that the rest will be better. Here I was more centered around Draco's personality and his everyday life, all the while hiding subliminal hints about the future plot in his entries. It was the Section of Introduction. Year Two will be the Section of Ginny Weasley Is Here Now, Can I Pull Of A Realistic, Slowly Developed Romance Over A Period Of Six Years, Only Time Will Tell.

And in honor of this occasion, an E-goody. Here is a link to a picture of the boy who's personal (and oh so deep -) thoughts you are reading. Not my fanart, just an interesting fan interpretation. Get a mental image! Yay!

Draco Circa Years One and Two - http:www.ysal.it/fanart/hp6.jpg

Just copy & paste the URL into your Address Bar! Then ENJOY!!! It's because I love you, readers.

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**Friday, May 29: Potions**

My head has been aching all week. And not like the headaches I've had before, either. They're more like the one in the forest, only not as bad. Pansy wanted to know exactly what it felt like.

"It's probably a tumor," she said. "That'd be interesting, if it killed you, wouldn't it?"

"You're not a ton of help, Pansy," I told her.

"Yes, well- Say, Draco, could I have your things? If you… die."

"Pansy!"

"You probably won't, though! You'll just be a vegetable for the rest of your life."

My best friend, the sadist.

**Monday, June 1: The Library**

Exams are starting today. They will last until Thursday. I'm skipping breakfast to try and get some last minute studying done. Not that I've been neglecting my studies or anything.

Of _course_ not.

**Later Monday: Boy's Bathroom**

Nott grabbed me after exams.

"Malfoy, you get that evil, vile girlfriend of yours to tell the Slytherins that I'm not having an affair with Professor-"

"NOTT!" I shouted in my most appalled voice, making sure everyone was listening. " I DO_ NOT _WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE! I JUST DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT SNAPE LIKE THAT!!!"

He gave me a horrified look, before rushing out. I am so pleased with my self! Oh, the guilty pleasures of life.

**Wednesday, June 3: Common Room**

Nott is sending me threatening messages. They are written in red ink; I _suppose_ it's meant to look like blood. Anyway, they've been coming in bulk. I got this one during breakfast.

_"Dear Enemy: I curse you, and hope that something slightly unpleasant happens to you, like an onion falling on your head."_

Well, that is the bottom end of the market. They run all the way to this one, which came during break.

_"Dear Enemy: may the Lord hate you and all your kind, may you be turned orange in hue, and may your head fall off at an awkward moment."_

I must do something about this. Oh, wait! I have an idea. Yes, it's perfect! I'll _do_ it.

**Thursday, June 4: Classroom Eleven**

You know, I think I really am turning into Pansy. Or at least I'm taking a leaf out of her book. My plan was actually quite simple. I had Crabbe clear the Common Room, grabbed some… slightly _altered _chocolates, and waited for Nott to come in. He sauntered in a while later, glaring at me.

"Malfoy," he sneered.

"Nott," I sneered back.

Then he caught sight of the neatly wrapped candy in my hands. With a nasty smirk, he snatched them from my hands and popped a couple into his mouth, while I protested (quite convincingly, if I do say so myself). Then he sat down slowly, looking a bit woozy.

"You know, these chocolates… taste… I don't know. Like they're…"

Then his eyes widened and he looked at the chocolates, quite shocked.

"…Drugged, by God!"

"No, by Malfoy, actually," I told him. "But the effect is much the same."

"You… you…"

But I'll never know what horrible name he wanted to call me, as he slumped down then, completely unconscious. I am quite proud of my Potions skills, you know. I even thought about becoming an apothecary as a child. At my lemonade stand I used to give the first glass away free and charge two galleons for the second glass. The refill contained the antidote.

I had Crabbe and Goyle carry him to the empty classroom off of the Entrance Hall. Then I proceeded to tie him to an armchair that I had Goyle drag in from the corridor. I am now waiting until he wakes up. I may be an apothecary-in-training, but I had no idea he would sleep this long. I'm sending Crabbe and Goyle for snacks.

Yawn. How dull. Wait, I think he's waking up. _Ultimatum_ time…

**Monday, June 8: Hospital Wing**

I cannot believe this is my life. What is going on with me? I'm _pretty_ sure it's not a tumor and I don't _feel_ possessed. So what on earth could be causing this weirdness?

I guess I'll start at the beginning. Let me think, that was three days ago. Oh, yes. Kidnapping Nott. That would have gone brilliantly, you know, if only this _thing_ hadn't interrupted.

Crabbe and Goyle had just left and Nott's eyes had cracked open a bit.

"Hullo Nott," I grinned. "Comfy?"

Yes, I realize I was plagiarizing Pansy, but _he _didn't know that.

"Malfoy, what do you think you're doing."

"Well, I rather think I'm kidnapping you, Nott."

He rolled his eyes at me.

"You're not serious."

Of course, I was perfectly serious and was about to tell him so when something… happened. It was like some kind of switch in my brain was turned off. Or perhaps on, I'm not sure which. Everything began to get dark and I could hear Nott's voice outside my head, mixed in with voices that might have been inside.

_"Malfoy?"_

_"Don't be stupid." _

_"Hey, are you alright?"_

_"…must be miles under the school."_

Everything began to blend together, so I couldn't tell what was being said to me and what wasn't.

_"…Malfoy, what's… I can't breath! …Malfoy? …Now what? …Malfoy!" _

The words jumbled together, becoming a vibrating hum all through my head. I think that's when I lost consciousness. Flashes of images, playing in black and white, dashed through my mind. Maybe they were memories, or dreams, or maybe both. I couldn't tell.

I dreamt that there was a mirror, just like in that dream I had all the way back in September. Only, this time, I was inside the mirror and Potter was outside, looking in at me. Professor Quirrell was there too, (My subconscious obviously hates this man.) but he looked threatening and cruel now.

They were saying things, but I couldn't here their voices over the humming. My head throbbed painfully, probably from hitting a desk on the way down. My ears were ringing.

Through the mirror, everything seemed red and made of fire. I couldn't quite make out what was happening; was that a face on Professor Quirrell's _head_? Potter was fighting, holding on to Quirrell as if his life depended on it. But Potter was losing; the face was screaming.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"

**_"If it kills him, all is lost,"_** whispered a musical voice. _"**We must wake him."**_

"Yes," I said, finding nothing strange about this at all, as it often is in dreams. "Yes, of course."

**_"Call him."_**

"Potter!"

**_"Call him."_**

"Potter!"

**_"Call him."_**

"I _am _calling him! Potter! POTTER!"

Then I remembered Longbottom in the forest and how using his first name had jarred him. I decided it couldn't hurt.

"Harry!" I called. "Harry!"

**_"Harry! Harry!" _**

The mirror melted away and the fire leaked over me. The ringing in my ears had turned into a tuneless, beautiful song. I could feel myself slipping backwards; there was nothing to hold me up anymore.

**_"Harryharryharryharryharryharryharryharryharryharryharryharry…"_**

Something glinted silver below me, coming up fast. It pulsed with the song; I reached out to touch it. I could almost feel it on my fingertips when…

_"Draco. Draco. Draco."_

"Draco."

I opened my eyes, finding myself staring into the face of Professor Dumbledore.

"Well, there. You're awake. I had a feeling you might be," he smiled down at me.

"Where am I?" I asked, pulling myself up. I didn't feel horrible, only a little sore.

"The hospital wing. You've been unconscious for nearly four days now."

I looked around, at a complete loss. How had I gotten here? What was going on?

"Mr. Nott carried you here when you lost consciousness. I am quite impressed with him; it must have taken quite a bit of drive to break those bonds you had him in," his eyes twinkled. "But we'll talk about those later, won't we?"

"Oh. Yes, I suppose we will."

We were silent for a moment.

"Weren't you gone, Professor?"

He smiled again.

"Professor Snape accurately deduced the cause of your sudden illness and owled me immediately. It arrived almost precisely when I did (a very quick owl, that it was), and I immediately returned in the quickest way possible."

"Why did you do that? Surely Madame Pomfrey could have taken care of me."

"Ah. But it was not for you that I was returning."

"But, then, who-?"

"Oh yes, I've just remembered. You have a package."

He handed me a bag that I recognized as Pansy's. Inside were a few boxes of candy, Mini-Draco, and Great-Aunt Adeline's ring. That's lovely of Pansy, isn't it, to send me an "I told you so" while I'm on my death bead.

_'Honestly,"_ I thought. _"She needs to let the ring thing _go!

But then I had a thought.

"Professor. What's- wrong with me?"

"What do you mean? There's nothing _wrong _with you, Mr. Malfoy."

I glared at him.

"Oh, yes. I'm sure it's perfectly natural. All of these weird dreams and headaches, passing out and-."

Dumbledore shook his head.

"There is very much a difference between the unnatural and the wrong, Mr. Malfoy."

"So there is something going on, you mean."

"I will no lie, Mr. Malfoy. Something _is_ happening to you. But, of course, you knew this already. If I told you there was not, you would not have believed me."

I stared at him.

"Pansy thinks it's this ring," I tossed it to him.

He caught it easily, holding it in between his thumb and forefinger. You can never tell quite what is going on in Dumbledore's mind. He seemed almost… pleased. He set it gently on the bedside table.

"No ring possesses power in itself, Mr. Malfoy, no matter what legend tells you. No. It is not the ring at all. It is the Phoenix."

"'The Phoenix', sir?" I have always known Dumbledore to be a bit off his rocker but now he was beginning to sound like Adeline. "You mean the bird? How can a phoenix be-?"

"No, no. Not _any _phoenix. The _Phoenix Force_. It is something far beyond that. A mythical bird that never dies, the Phoenix flies far ahead to the front, always scanning the landscape and distant space. It represents our capacity for vision, for collecting sensory information about our environment and the events unfolding within it. The Phoenix, with its great beauty, creates intense excitement and deathless inspiration. You must understand, Draco. Everything that has a beginning has an end. And, for every ending, there is a beginning. I can feel it in my bones, Mr. Malfoy. I can feel it in my soul. The old order has passed away; a new order has begun," his voice lowered to a whisper. "The Phoenix has risen."

I stared at him for a moment.

"I don't understand."

"You will, Mr. Malfoy. Someday, you will."

"Sure…"

"I will see you at the Leaving Feast, now won't I?"

"I suppose so."

"Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy."

"Goodbye, Professor."

So here I am, waiting to be released from the hospital wing. Mini-Draco is as restless as I am. Right now he is ripping the petals off a rose he stole from another patient while laughing maniacally. Well, he's not a portrait of me for nothing.

**Later Monday: The Dorm**

And in a wonderful display of favoritism, Gryffindor has won the house cup. Apparently, some time while I was unconscious, Potter and Friends had a kind _grand adventure_. Saved the school and all that rot.

Just hit me while I'm down, why don't you? Stupid Dumbledore.

I've been thinking. Is it possible that Potter fighting Quirrell and my dreaming about the same thing is a just _coincidence_. I don't really think so. Is it possible that he was projecting it or maybe I apparated there subconsciously or maybe… But it's just so _odd_.

Everything is odd lately. Like my having to find a way to thank Nott. Dear Lord, save me.

**Thursday, June 11: Common Room**

Exam results have come out. I did quite well, I think. Much better that Crabbe or Goyle, who only passed because they have been copying my answers all year. I can't believe my first year at Hogwarts is almost over.

And I didn't even DO ANYTHING.

**Friday, June 19: The Dorm**

Theodore Nott is sitting across from me right now. Only a few seconds ago we had our first real conversation since we met. Shocking.

"Well," I said. "The year sure went fast."

"Yeah," He said.

"Yeah… So, how did you do on exams? Well, I guess you did fine or I would have heard."

"Yeah."

"Yes, well… Umm, well, I suppose I should thank you. For… you know."

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll just… go then."

"Hey Malfoy," he kind of smiled. "You know, I should thank _you_ for being so puny. It was really easy carrying you up all those stairs."

"I am _not_ puny," I stuck out my chin at him.

"Of course not. You're merely vertically challenged."

**Saturday, June 20: In Route to Platform 9¾**

On my way out, I saw Professor Dumbledore in the hallway. I decided to talk to him. I wanted to ask him all of these questions I've been thinking about.

"Professor," I called, then more softly. "Can I ask you some questions?"

"Of course," He looked pleased to see me, which was surprising.

"Look Professor, about that thing with Nott-."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Now, now, that is in the past. I don't believe in dwelling on the past, Mr. Malfoy. It merely wastes the present, wouldn't you agree?"

"Sure."

"You were upset about the House Cup, weren't you?"

"A little, sir."

Try a _lot_, actually, but he couldn't know that.

"Do you think about it a lot?"

"Quite a bit, sir."

"Well, you shouldn't," he smiled. "That constitutes dwelling in the past. It happened and nothing can change that."

"I guess so. Professor, about what you said in the hospital wing-."

"Mr. Malfoy," he said good-naturedly. "_That_ is in the _past_. There is only one thing I'm interested in and that's the future. And we can only get there together. Gryffindor and Slytherin _together_, not divided. "

He put a hand on my cheek. It was surprisingly warm to the touch; the heated imprint seemed to remain when he removed his fingers.

"You'll see it, one day."

And then he was gone. I didn't realized until just now. I never got to ask him anything. All I could think about where his eyes, which always seem to twinkle merrily.

I had always thought his eyes were blue but, up close, I realized that his pupils are outlined with purple.

_Purple signifies deep passion, royalty, and spirit. Purple is also the color of the mystic.'_

You don't suppose…

But then again, maybe I'm only reaching.

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YAAAAY!!! Goodbye First Year, hello Second! Cheer with me!

Readers: (unenthusiastically) Wooh...

You guys are so _mean_! Except those of you who reviewed. I _love_ you! Oh, by the by, if you're one of those people who wants a conclusion before reviewing, this is a good place to do it! Yes, I mean you. Oh, come on. Just move the mouse. That's it. Now click. GOOD FOR YOU!

**A Special Thanks To:**

Thaelia15- You're so _cynical_ Thaelia. And I wouldn't have you any other way because, of course, it makes me work harder. There, have I appeased you, oh master? Yes? Not really? But, you're willing to spare me? Oh, jolly good! Let's have tea!

mnwugn- Ah, my faithful beta. Thank you so much for helping me! Poor little Acorn. Yes, we pity you. Are you and Thaelia going to be using my review system as an online sparring ground now? I thought so. Oh, well!

Vampire-Dragon Nidhogg- Thanks so much! I love being on favorites lists! And, of course, I adore being told Draco's in character. It's all so debatable, you see. Hope you're still reading!

chuya- Another person to praise my Draco! The fates smile upon me once again. :grins: Here, have a slice of Mini-Draco a la Mode. Oh, hey, is this "chuya" from portkey? (She just put the pieces together.) I don't think it's a common E-name, but I could be wrong. Well, if you are, it's great to have a fellow portkeyer reading! :loves portkey as if it were her very soul:

IdentityCrisis- A loyal reviewer. You're a dime a dozen! Thanks so much for your support thus far! We hope you'll keep a death grip on this bullet train for as long as it runs. Nova loves you!

Cinder2004- I'm witty! Nova-chan basks in what she thinks is the best compliment, as Draco used the word "witty" in PoA and that makes it the best word _ever_. That and malevolent. Why, oh why did somebody have to take that Draco fansite name? Teehee. Get it? _Mal_evolent. Hee...

yuiyui- _I _know why you like it! It's bloody brilliant, that's why! :chuckles: I'm glad you enjoyed/are enjoying it. :sends you a muffin in the mail:

( )- Thanks for the review! Yes, Draco is terribly sympathetic, no? No. Well... We never said he wasn't a spoiled-rotten brat. But he's OUR brat!

FelisCorvis- You know, I thought about it, and you're right! They should appreciate all of the free publicity I am giving them by ripping of their one-liners. Yeah! And I'm so glad you like it! :huggles:

Nuit Chouette- Yes, Mini-Draco has reached insane popularity levels for some reason. Then again, I love the guy, so I don't mind. He will play a much more interesting role in the future. :grins at the fanart she slipped Nuit during Marine Science: Don't tell anybody, 'kay?

Strangely Odd- I love YOU. I'm an amazing author, you say? - Well, I hate to disagree with the fans! :Novalee's ego grows so big that she hits the ceiling:

Thanks so much for the comps, everybody! I'm going to go write chapter eight (and deflate myself)! See ya!!!


	8. Year the Second: Chapter the First

Finally! It's here! Chapter Eight!!! WHOOOOH!!! Oh, why was it so late? Well… hehe… it's a long story involving Fruits Basket, hurricane evacuations, writer's block, and lazy bums. You don't _really_ wanna hear it, do you? Didn't think so.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! Do you hear me? NOTHING! I have no home; I live on a bike! So don't ask me if I own Harry Potter, because I DON'T! Why do the fates curse me so?!?! :runs off sobbing:

**A Note On the Posting Schedule:** As I'm sure you've gathered, posting twice a week just won't work anymore. I'm going for once a week now, but I won't make any promises. Bare with me, I _am_ trying.

Well, second year is officially on! I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It is the product of my sweat and blood (and much printing ink). And, you'll be delighted to know, it is longer than my usual chapters. A kind of "please forgive me" present. HAPPY READING!

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**Sunday, June 21: In Route to Malfoy Mansion**

I'm disappointed. I mean, it's not like I expected some kind of tearful reunion, in which long buried love was showered upon me like so much sunshine, but come on! They could have at least been a little pleased to see me! But _no_. When I stepped onto Platform 9 ¾, what did I find awaiting me? Dobby, our house elf, that's who.

That's right. My parents sent a _house elf_ to fetch me. Like I'm baggage or something! The minute I saw him standing there, I set out to find the reason for my parents' terrible rudeness.

Me: Dobby! What are _you_ doing here?

Dobby: Dobby is here to pick up Master Draco, sir. Dobby is- Dobby is SORRY!

Me: Sure you are, Dobby. Sure you are. Look, would you just tell me where my parents are?

Dobby: Master Malfoy is in a meeting. Master Malfoy-

Me: And you didn't stop him?!

Dobby: OH! DOBBY IS SOOOORRRRRYYYYY!!!! DOBBY IS-

Me: Shut up, Dobby.

House elves are so annoying. Really, could they be any stupider? I think not. Anyway, I had Dobby, who looked as if he might try to shut his ears in something at any moment, grab my trunks. Then, picking up my bag, I decided to make my way to where I knew our carriage would be waiting for me. Dobby had dressed himself in badly fitting muggle clothing (gods only know where and how he got them) with some kind of hat hiding his ears. He looked rather ridiculous, I must say.

Then the strangest thing happened. As we walked out, I noticed that there was a girl following us, staring at my house elf. She followed us out of the train station, so I turned to see what in the world she was looking at.

"Can I help you?" I said, in what I think to be a rather threatening voice.

She blinked at me for a moment then pointed to Dobby.

"Did you know that you have a circus midget carrying your bags?"

"What?"

"Your house elf," she giggled. "He looks like a circus midget."

Now, I have no idea what a "circus" is and I'm a little fuzzy on the term "midget", but I had the feeling that it wasn't going to do me an inch of good to find out. So I turned and left. Unfortunately, she followed me.

"You're from Hogwarts, right? Is it fun? Who's your favorite teacher? What house are you in? Do you know Harry Potter?"

"Of course, marginally, Snape, Slytherin, and yes, the bloody _git_," I answered, feeling that surely she would go away now.

She didn't. I turned to have a good look at her, feeling quite frustrated. She was very short, about a head less than me, and dressed in muggle clothes that obviously belonged to a boy in their previous life. They were much too large on her; the shirt kept slipping down over her shoulders and she had rolled the baggy jeans up so far that they looked like a huge knot on top of her shoes. She had an enormous sprinkle of freckles everywhere. Besides that, her hair was so red as to only be rivaled by Weasley's and was pulled up into pigtails, which I'm sure were supposed to be cute but really just seemed to be screaming, "I'm a girl! I'm a GIRL! REALLY!"

Girl: Oh. You know, _I'll_ be at Hogwarts _this_ year.

Me: Isn't that fabulous for you.

Girl: Sure is! I think I'll be Gryffindor, since all my brothers have been.

Me: Couldn't guess by looking at you.

Girl: Well, maybe. But, really, if looks were everything, you probably wouldn't be a Slytherin.

Me: Oh?

Girl: Yup. You look more like a Ravenclaw or maybe a Hufflepuff.

Me: Oh.

Girl: looking over at Dobby You know, you shouldn't make him carry all of those bags.

Me: I'm not making him carry _all_ of them. I have a bag, see?

Girl: How very helpful of you, carrying one bag while he has to carry seven trunks. You shouldn't even be allowed to carry this much stuff. How did you ever sneak them in? Well, never mind.

Then she went right over and took two of the trunks from Dobby. Now, I was slighted. Here I was, carrying my own bag and she acts like I'm being horrible! Really! Anyway, this girl just picked one trunk up and put it under her arm and dragged the other behind her. It was very amusing to watch, as the trunks were both half her size.

Girl: (sounding rather strained) Where's your ride?

I pointed at the carriage, which was hovering just over the ground a few yards away, waiting for me. She just stood there, staring with her mouth open and looking rather like a fish without any water. Now, it's quite true that our carriage is something to be proud of; it's been in the Malfoy family for centuries. It's our trademark color, silver, and flies so quickly that you wouldn't even know it passed you, except for the gust of wind that hits you several seconds later. Plus, it's drawn by silver-blue dragons that look like snakes with purple wings and glowing purple eyes. We are the only people in all of Europe to own this breed, you know! Only the best for a Malfoy, my father always says.

"Th- _That's_ yourcarriage?"

"Yes," I said. "Where's yours?"

"Umm… well, we… usually… I mean, we don't…"

Then I understood. Of course. It explained the clothes and everything, after all.

"Oh, I get it! You're _poor_!"

She stared at me.

"You're not big on tact are you?"

At that moment I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"Draco, ready to go?"

The girl started gaping again. This time, she was staring at our carriage driver. I suppose, if you're not used to dealing with strange people on a daily basis, Madam _could_ be rather interesting. She is a perfect match for the dragons, you know; she has light blue skin, purple eyes, and long, flowing purple hair. She even looks rather oriental around the eyes. People tend to stare at her a lot, mostly because of her bare feet and flowing, sheer dresses, not her skin.

"Hello," said Madam, looking the girl over. "A friend of yours Draco?"

"Err, no, she's--"

Then, bowing in that _way_ the Asian have, she introduced herself.

"I am Feng Po-Po. Madam Wind, if you would prefer, though Madam is fine."

The girl looked startled and gave a rather awkward bow back.

"Oh, yeah! I'm… uhh… I'm Ginevra."

You know, she really doesn't look like a "Ginevra". She looks like a Sarah or a Mary or something common like that. Whatever. Not my call. Anyway, after introducing herself, Madam proceeded to prod me into the carriage, telling me that I was already running late. I wasn't even aware that I was on a schedule.

"Well, see you," said the girl, Ginevra, as I climbed in. "We'll meet again at Hogwarts!"

"If we must," I said, sighing loudly so that she could hear me.

Why is it that everyone who I want to like me ends up hating me and the one person who I've tried to be rid of thinks we're great buddies? I'm sure I was quite clear about how annoying she was. What is _Ginevra_'s problem, anyway?

Well, I can see the Mansion in the distance. Time to find out just why my parents didn't feel the need to meet me. They had better have a good excuse, let me tell you.

**Later Sunday: Malfoy Mansion, My Room**

Well, at least I know why they didn't come. They were too busy convincing my tutor to come back and teach me over the summer. Oh, for god's sakes! I was a few marks below Hermione Granger and they're treating me like I'm stupid!

I wouldn't mind so much if they hadn't gotten my childhood tutor, Monsieur Tyran(1), who has been my only teacher since I was old enough to hold a quill. I thought I had finally escaped! You see, Monsieur Tyran is a little over six feet tall, so thin that he practically disappears when he turns to the side, and really _pointy_. Maybe that's an odd description but, really, that's what he is. His beak nose sticks straight out from his face and his fingers come to razor-sharp points. He has these beady little black eyes that dart around constantly and always carries this long, thin birch rod with him that he used to hit me with when I was little. I'm not sure if he can actually use it on my anymore, legally, but it's still rather intimidating.

So, here I was, looking forward to a nice relaxing summer and what does my mum say to me first? Not "How was your year?" not "I'm so glad you're home!" but instead the most dreaded words known to man.

"Oh, Draco! I have good news! Would you believe that Monsieur Tyran is going to tutor you this summer?"

How is that good news, woman? HOW? What world do you LIVE in? Oh, gods. Please, I beg of you, save me from this hell. Relieve me of this horrible life. Strike me down with a lightening bolt! I cannot live another DAY!

**Still Sunday: Malfoy Mansion, North Wing Drawing Room**

I knew this was coming. Father called me in after supper to "discuss my grades". It went exactly how you might expect it would. He was freakishly calm as he asked me why they were "so atrocious". I explained all about Granger and favorites. I went off into a tirade about Potter somewhere along the line, but I managed to steer the conversation back to my grades most skillfully. After I finished, he sat there for a moment with his eyes closed.

"That is no excuse," he said, coldly. "I slave and slave to build up our reputation and no son of mine is going to ruin it because of his selfishness!"

And then he ranted on and on about my disgracing the Malfoy name for about an hour and a half. I pretty much tuned him out after, "… I have never been so ashamed in all my life! Your mother cried herself to sleep! When my coworkers hear about this…" Anyway, so there's the reasoning behind Monsieur Tyran.

You know, my marks weren't even that bad. He's just mad because Granger, a mudblood _and_ a woman, beat me. I hate her _so_ much.

**Monday, June 22: Malfoy Mansion, Dining Hall**

My first lesson with Monsieur Tyran this summer is going rather terribly. Did I mention that he only lets me speak French around him? He says that English is crude and violent on the ears. Riiight. He despairs of me, by the way.

"C'est terrible! Terrible!" He says. "Tu es un garcon stupide! Un idiot!"(2)

I don't know if there is anything more insulting than being degraded in a foreign language.

He keeps hissing that I'm not trying hard enough and that I obviously don't want to learn (which is true and he knows it). Even when I get all of the answers right, he says I'm still not doing well enough. Now, I'm not quite sure how I can do any better than the best score, but when I told him that… well, it wasn't pretty.

I seriously think he has some issues buried deep within him somewhere that he is taking out on me. I wonder whether his father loved him? I think I shall ask him someday. Then again, he is twisting that birch rod rather menacingly, so maybe not. Even though I still don't think he can legally hit me.

My lunch break is over now. Of to hell! Or, I should say, enfer(3)!

**Still Monday: The West Wing (My Rooms) **

Okay, so he is allowed to hit me. Ow. My arms have little red welts all over them. I seriously think this is against my rights. All I did was ask him how his romantic life was going, as he seemed a bit stressed. Obviously it's not going very well, as that was what broke him. That and the fact that I accidentally set his desk on fire with my channeling candles, but that could have happened to anyone.

I wonder if I would get grounded for having my tutor arrested for child abuse.

**Friday, June 26: The West Wing Library**

I'm getting rather tired of this whole tutoring _thing_. It is beginning to grate upon my nerves. Today I got in trouble for licking my quill. I had to walk on my knees across the stone courtyard repeating, "I will not defame the glorious name of my family and tutor," for five hours, as if I were doing penance in the Middle Ages. This is beginning to seem unbearable.

You know what? I think I know the real reason Monsieur Tyran doesn't like to speak English. It's because he hasn't quite _grasped_ the language and, like several French people that I know, keeps forgetting the last syllables of words. "Breakfast" is "brek" and "tutor" is "toot". I almost died when he told my father that, "The Malfoys 'ave good ass," this morning. Mother elbowed me in the side, which really hurt (so rude) and I got in trouble again. But, I mean, come on! How can they blame me?

Well, the Malfoy family reunion is coming up, so I'll get a break. Only… it just occurred to me that listening to my Uncle Ramputin chat about torturing muggles in the good old days isn't exactly a break. In fact, it might be just as bad as tutoring! How do you make small talk about blood sacrifices? I'd like to know.

**Monday, June 29: My Bedroom**

The creepiest thing happened to me today, as I was walking down the hallway on my way back from tutoring.

"Oh," I thought to myself. "Dieu merci pour petit miracles! La reunion es presque-"(4)

And then I realized something. I was thinking in _French_! Oh my god! This isn't the only time something like this has happened either! I started writing a letter to Pansy the other day and was halfway through before I realized I wasn't writing in English. I keep telling the house elves to "Alles!"(5). Do you know what this means?! It means that Monsieur Tyran is turning me into a MONSTER!!!

Unfortunately, my parents are unsympathetic to my plight. Curse them.

**Friday, July 2: Dining Hall **

Oh, thank the gods. We're leaving for the reunion in a few hours, so I had to say "adieu"(6) to Monsieur Tyran. It was heartrending, truly it was. But, yes, we'll swing by Chateau Renaud and pick up Great-Aunt Adeline on the way. Adeline isn't a Malfoy; she's my (deceased) grandmother's sister, but we take her along to the Malfoy reunions anyway. The relatives like to sit her on top of the grand piano and throw breadcrumbs at her. You've got to love family traditions.

Better pack a jacket. Castle Malfoy is somewhere on the other side of the world. Apparently it is criminally _cold_ there. Yeah, that'll make my day.

**Saturday, July 3: Castle Malfoy, Front Steps**

Well, we've been here for about half a day now and I have come to the conclusion that I have some _strange_ relatives. I knew it would be bad, of course, when my father grabbed me roughly by the elbow on the way in and whispered, "Insult no one, Draco, and I will buy you a racing broom."

Now, I'm as happy as anyone to get a new present, but this _does_ mean I can't make any sarcastic comments. It's been right tempting at times. For example, here is an excerpt from a conversation between my Aunt Lydia and my Great-Aunt Matilde. They were talking about the latest fashion crazes and Matilde decided to add these little pearls of wisdom.

"Well, that may be the style in Paris but there are very different ideas. For example, they are working on bringing back the flowing look in Cantalia, and in Genoa, 'tis now the fashion to pin a live frog to the shoulder-braid, stand on a bucket, and go 'Bibble' at passers-by."

And, you know, that's not the strangest thing that's happened. Grandmother Malfoy tried to feed me mermaid flesh ("It's good for you!") and my cousin, Vladimir, gave me a lesson in castrating the enemy. Uncle Ramputin _was_, in fact, discussing muggle torture and how fun it was to squeeze the eyeball of a living person between your fingers. Somehow, though, he got talking about his war stories. And dear god does he have some stories.

Tried to escape by ducking out into the courtyard but before long I heard, "I was then taken and hung by the larger of my two testicles from the Wall of the Bastille. It was at this stage I decided I'd had enough."

Before I even had the chance to run, Uncle Ramputin, my father, and some other relatives had roped me into coming on their carriage ride with them. So here I am, waiting for my cruel captor to drag me into a small, closed space with people who, I _swear_, I'm not related to. When will it end? Have I not suffered enough?

**Later Saturday: Ball Room**

Well, that wasn't so bad. We walked along the streets of a nearby village and watched Uncle Ramputin throw hexes at the muggle pedestrians. It was terribly amusing. Then we decided to head down to the wizarding part of town because Father complained that the muggle stench was suffocating. We never made it though, as the best part of the whole trip presented itself when a beggar latched onto my father's boot.

"Poor Tom is cold," he said. "Pity poor Tom, for his nose is frozen, and he doth shiver, and… is maaaddddd!!!!!"

"Oh, shut up," said Father.

He tried to walk off but Tom the Beggar wouldn't let go of his leg. Father dragged him for a couple of feet and then tried hitting him with his walking stick.

"Poor Tom! Poor Tom!" Shouted the beggar.

"Let go!" Father shouted back, looking annoyed.

"PIIIIIIITY POOOOOR TOOOOM!!!"

"NO!!!"

"YEEEEEEEEEES!!!"

"NO! NO! NO!"

Father tried prying him off with his other foot then. By now we were all laughing so hard we couldn't breath.

"POOR TOM IS MAAAAAAD!!!" Said the beggar.  
  
"I CAN SEE THAT!" Said my father.

Needless to say, this went on for a while. Eventually my father's boot came off and Tom the Beggar picked it up and ran away, laughing maniacally. Father stomped back to the carriage wearing only one shoe and saying all sorts of words I'm not supposed to know under his breath. And so ended our little field trip.

**Sunday, July 4: Madam's Carriage **

Finally, we're leaving! If I had had to eat another bite of mermaid, I swear I would have exploded. I'll tell you what, that racing broom had better be top notch because I couldn't even comment on my Great-Aunt Martha's reenactment of her son's birth. Do you KNOW how hard that was?!

Well, we're on the way back to Chateau Renaud with Adeline in tow. We'll be staying there for a few days and then I'll have to go back to tutoring. Blech.

You know, it's funny. I had thought it was just my imagination but now that I'm away from it all I'm pretty sure I'm not making it up. All summer I've had this weird feeling in my chest, like something's pulling on it. Not hard or anything, but it just feels like a kind of tugging sensation right over my heart. I tried to ignore it at first but it seems like it's just getting stronger. The only person I've mentioned it to is Pansy and she told me that it was probably just a tapeworm. She said that's why she doesn't eat sushi.

Pansy isn't the most sympathetic person in the world, I've noticed.

**Tuesday, July 6: Chateau Renaud, The East Wing (Guest Rooms)**

Great-Aunt Adeline woke me up at three in the morning last night. I heard something creaking in the hallway and so I peeked out my door. She was wandering around, looking rather like she was sleepwalking, in her white nightgown.

"Umm… Aunt Adeline?"

She turned her head to the side, looking as distant as always.

"Oh, Sherisse. Good morning."

"Morning, Auntie. Did you need something?"

I'm rather used to Adeline's oddities. She's been like this ever since I can remember. I think she lost her mind early on, that she isn't just senile, but nobody likes to talk about it. Whenever I ask about it, they sigh and say, "Adie's just like that," and nothing else. Oh, well. What's done is done and doesn't matter, as Mother always says.

"I was looking for Tom," she said dreamily.

Who told Adeline about Tom the Beggar? I could wring their neck! Now she'll go on and on about it for years, like when I told her about my cat, Sabine, when I was little.

"Tom's back with Grandmother Malfoy, Auntie. Why don't you go back to bed?"

"But Sherisse, I'm late. I've got to go find Tom. I'm late."

Finally I convinced her to follow me back to her rooms. She settled down in her huge bed and then looked at me. It never ceases to amaze me, how vacant her eyes are. I think that once she must have been very beautiful. It's actually very sad.

"Oh," I remembered. "I have something for you."

I pulled the cord that I wear around my neck out of my color. I've been wearing Forrest's money along with her ring since summer started. I tried to give the ring back to her, but she pulled her hand away and shook her head.

"But Auntie, it's yours. I don't need it."

"You _do_ need it, Draco. The fire's burning inside, don't you see? It's yours. It says it's yours."

I had to agree. She was rambling again and there's just no winning when she's like that. Finally, I decided to go back to bed.

"Sherisse," she called after me. "Say hello to Sabine for me!"

"I will, Aunt Adeline."

Only Sabine died six years ago. We're leaving for home in a few hours. I can't say I mind. Chateau Renaud always gives me the creeps.

**Wednesday, July 7: Malfoy Mansion, West Wing Drawing Room**

I'm in trouble again. Well, it was worth it. I really wasn't in the mood to deal with Monsieur Tyran today. As it turns out, I was supposed to have been doing homework over my short little holiday. Whoops, silly me. Anyway, he was _livid_. The lecture lasted forever and, of course, was terribly boring.

"Well," hissed the deranged Frenchman. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Now, I felt the need to say a great many things but, finally, realized that one word would say it all. I looked him straight in the face and uttered my glorious declaration in as insolent a voice as I could muster.

"Bibble."

**Friday, July 16: Dining Hall**

Oh, this ought to be good. Guess who's coming for dinner tonight? Pansy, of course. And why will this be interesting? Well, you see, Monsieur Tyran is staying over as well. Will they get along? Doubtful.

Pansy has promised to behave, but forgive me for not being immediately convinced. This is Pansy Parkinson, after all. She's just _like_ that. I mean, I love her, but she _is_. Why do I have the feeling this night will be the death of me?

**Later Friday: My Rooms**

Actually, I'm impressed. Pansy tried to behave, she really did. If only Father had had the foresight to not sit her by Monsieur Tyran, the night would have gone without a hitch. Unfortunately no one had that thought. Pansy tried to be good and for about half of the night she succeeded. That is, until Monsieur Tyran turned to her and said, in his best imitation of English.

"S'il te-plait(7), ma chere(8), pass the butt."

Pansy, who had just taken a sip from her glass, immediately spewed water all over him. Then, because she's Pansy and has never heard of tact, she just started laughing. And they weren't little lady-like giggles either. They were full blown guffaws.

"Oh- my- GOD!" She said in between laughs. "Pass- pass the- BUTT!"

She snorted and toppled out of her chair.

"Umm…" said Monsieur Tyran.

"AHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! BUTT!!!!!"

My parents just sat there, staring, as Pansy had an epileptic fit on the floor of our dining hall. The house elves stopped to stare. I had to stuff my napkin in my mouth to keep from laughing as well.

"AHAHAH… HAH… hah… butt… heh," chuckled Pansy, as she climbed back into her chair.

She smoothed out her skirt, then calmly reached over and handed Monsieur Tyran the butter. You've just got to love Pansy, no?

* * *

There you go! I must say, I'm quite proud of this chapter. I guess it's not any better than the others, but it just seems… well… _better_. What do you think? Review and tell me!

I was actually going to have this chapter go all the way up to Platform 9 ¾, but, for whatever reason, this summer was longer than the last. Well, in the next chapter, you can look forward to Diagon Alley, interaction with Ginny, escaped lunatics, fights with Nott, advice from Forest, and a whole lot of sarcasm. Tune in next time! Same bat-time, same bat-channel!

**A Lesson In French**

****

All right, there was a bit of French in this chapter! And, while I know that most of you have no idea what it was, I thought translating it was visibly disruptive. What were they saying? Well, here it is!

1. Tyran is actually French for tyrant. chuckles at her own wit What? You don't think it's funny? Well, bite me. 3

2. "This is terrible! Terrible! You are a stupid boy! An idiot!" He's not the kindest man, is he?

3. "Enfer" is French for "hell".

4. "Thank God for small miracles! The reunion is almost-" I'm not sure I got the grammar right in these two sentences, so if you're French and are shocked by my atrocious slaughter of your beautiful language, just review and tell me the correct way to write it.

5. "Alles!" means "Go!"

6. "Adieu" is "goodbye". I think you should all know this but… whatever.

7. Means "please". Learn it, live it.

8. "Ma chere" is "my dear" in English. Fans of the X-Men rejoice at finding a word with which they are familiar.

* * *

From now on, we will be doing something new. They are called… REVIEW RESPONSES! YAAAAAAY!!!

**IdentityCrisis: **Yeah, I'm working on that. My beta didn't have time to read the last few chapters and so I had to try proofing them myself. Missed a lot, turns out. But I went back and reloaded them, making as many changes as I could find, so I hope it's better now. About the conversation format, well it _does_ make things funnier, so I'm trying not to use it on more serious conversations. Don't worry, I'll be using script form in the future, when I can! Well, thanks so much for sticking by! You're the best! :huggles:

**Vampire-Dragon Nidhogg: **I'm so GLAD!!! Wow, it makes me feel really good to know that even non-D/Gers are reading. Hey, don't worry. It's not _all_ about Draco/Ginny. Believable, slowly developed romances are more my style anyway. Besides, Draco is a teenaged boy (or will be in about seven chapters -) and will have more that one "romance". Yes, even Dracie-poo gets crushes. :hands you a muffin: Keep reading! We can only go uphill from here!

**Strangely Bitter: **Not to worry! My head has been sufficiently deflated. BRING ON THE COMPLIMENTS!!! Well, not the soonest update (sorry! sorry!), but I'm really glad you wanted one! Second Year will, like I said, move faster and be more tied together than First. You'll love it, believe me. Err… uhh… KNOCK ON WOOD!!!

**Kaye: **Thank you! I, for one, know how hard it is to force yourself to review, and whenever someone who usually doesn't does on one of my stories it makes me ramble on and on in sentences that are most likely run-ons! I'm glad it's funny! Remember, we want you to laugh, but we want you to think too. Things that seem random won't seem so random anymore in later chapters! Everything ties together!

**Thaelia15: **Oh, darn it. Have I brought about the end of the world again? Aww, man! But, hey! It means overly muscular guys in leather will come to interrogate me! I LOVE it when they do that! But off to more serious matters! (heh. yeah right.) It makes me soooo happy when people I know read because they are enjoying the story! Really, that's the most rewarding thing! And, yeah, Pansy's great. She'll only get better as time goes by! :blinks: Scooter… pixies? So you _didn'_t like it or you just… what? (??? So confused! ???) Yes, the scene with Dumbledore is riddled with breadcrumbs. Hey, you forgot to mention that he was like Morpheus! :pouts: Oh, well. You can't win 'em all!

**mnwugn: **Hello, my dearest beta! Yes, yes. You will have your revenge. :attempts to be soothing but gets distracted by a shiny object: OH LOOK! A PENNY!

**Nuit Chouette: **Well… it's up at least, if not _soon_. Do you like Nott? I do. But maybe because I know more about his personality than you guys right now. Mini-Draco rocks! I forgot to mention him in this chapter. I suppose Draco tied him up somewhere so that Mini-dearest wouldn't get him in trouble. Maybe I'll write a scene where Mini-Draco sneaks into class with Monsieur Tyran. Hmm. I'm trying to read your stories, but fiction press says you don't exist. So frustrating…

Want to see YOUR name on the list? Then click on the button below and send a review! It's fun, fast, and easy! You should get your own review response by the next update! Only while supplies last! Click now!!!

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	9. Chapter the Second

Merry Christmas, all! Yay! I've got an update for the holidays! See, I told you I was working on something. And _you_ thought I was sleeping on the job! Hah hah… hah… Okay, so I have been a _tad_ bit lazy. I'm sorry for the late update, really I am. But it's here now. Or… part of it is. 

Heh. In the words of Forrest, it's kind of a funny story. But, anyway, this is Chapter Nine, Part One. Part Two is so close to finished it hurts me, but I really wanted to get the story updated before Christmas, and, as this chapter is almost two times the normal length, I didn't think you'd notice. Part A should be up by, like, New Years. Maybe.

**Disclaimer:** All I want for Christmas is the rights to Harry Potter. Alas, in the words of… some old, dead guy, it just ain't gonna happen. I would say that I'm going to have a blue Christmas without it, but, actually, I'm pretty good. I ordered the Harry Potter books box set for a Christmas gift… to myself. It makes me HAPPY!

* * *

**Monday, July 19: West Wing Drawing-Room**

I've changed my mind. I _hate_ Pansy. Because of her, Monsieur Tyran despises me more than ever! I could tell because, the second he walked into the classroom, I saw that his already beady eyes were narrowed so far that they looked like tiny black slits in his face. Oh, and he had gone out and got a new birch rod, a really thin one.

That makes it hurt more, you know. When I was little, I thought it would hurt less if it weren't as big, so I whittled it down with my dinner knife when he wasn't looking. Ow. Even the _memory_ hurts.

Where was I before I started recalling my horrible childhood? Oh yes._ Pansy_. I curse her and all who support her to an early and well-deserved _GRAVE_!

And my parents aren't helping one bit. I tried complaining to Mum, but all I got was the "in the family" talk. You see, the Tyran family has been teaching our family (on mother's side, not the Malfoy's) forever. They taught Mum and her sisters, and my Grandmother Black, and even Great-Aunt Adeline. I wonder if they were all as horrible as _my_ Monsieur Tyran.

Somehow, I don't imagine they were.

**Sunday, 25: Ballroom (or, to be correct, hidden in the cupboard under the Ballroom stairs)**

Monsieur Tyran didn't go home Friday, like he usually does. He told Father I'm in desperate need of extra studying and that I'm doing just _horribly_. Which, of course, led to another lecture. Father was really furious this time. (He threw a chair out the window. Reactionary much?) So, anyway, now I'm having lessons on the weekend too.

Or I'm _supposed_ to be having lessons, anyway. I've hidden myself in our Ballroom, in the storage cupboard. Only house-elves come in here and I can just order _them_ not to tell. It's perfect!

Oh, the cleverness of me.

**Later Sunday: The Classroom**

Bugger! How does Monsieur Tyran know me so well anyway? He came bursting into my Cupboard Stronghold and dragged me out by the scruff of my neck. Then he sat there, still holding tight to my throat and started screaming at me in French.

"What _is_ your problem, Draco Malfoy?"

"Right now, breathing," I told him.

He glared a hole into my head. And then, of course, launched into one of his lectures. I didn't listen. Actually, I find my ability to tune out authority quite inspiring. Finally, he stomped out to tell my Father on me, hissing orders on his way out.

"While I am away, you will wait here for your punishment and think about what you've done! Also, you will finish your work, which you so selfishly neglected."

Bollocks to that! I'm going to try hiding down in the Kitchen. I tell you, Monsieur Tyran is positively _beastly_.

**Friday, July 30: West Wing Library**

You won't believe what's happened! Dobby, my Father's personal house-elf, has run away! Really! He just took off this morning, no one knows where. Father is livid. He keeps wandering around the halls, muttering to himself and kicking house-elves.

I am amazed at Dobby's stupidity. For Merlin's sake, he's not even a free elf. It's not like he can stay away! I tell you, he's going to be ironing his hands when he gets home, if he's _lucky_. Father looks fit to kill.

Is it terribly wrong for me to find this amusing?

**Sunday, August 1: East Wing Study**

Still no sign of Dobby. Father's in a right state. He's called all of his evil buddies together for an emergency meeting. Mother's got me guarded in her rooms for the time being, as always. Anyway, about Father, he thinks that Dobby knows something about his "operations" (aka deatheater plots, probably) and has scurried off to tell someone. I think this is ridiculous. Who on Earth could he tell? He's a blooming _house-elf_!

I wrote Pansy about all this. Her only input was that paranoia seems to run in the family. Thanks Pansy. That helped _loads_.

**Wednesday, August 4: My Bedroom**

Sweet Merlin, I'm exhausted! There were _nine_ Ministry raids last night, so we were up 'till seven o'clock in the morning, waiting for owls and moving all of my father's dark arts supplies into the chamber under the drawing-room. I've never carried so many creepy things around in my life! (This being the only good part.) I'm so tired that I can barely lift my quill, but I didn't want to forget. When I'm in therapy later on in life, I can read back and blame my parents, no problem.

**Tuesday, August 10: West Wing Library**

Father's decided that we're going to Diagon Alley on the nineteenth. He wants to sell some incriminating potions down Knockturn, and I'm bloody glad of it! Maybe he'll stop pacing soon. It's starting to give me a headache.

I want to ask someone to come with me. It's going to be a real bore, just going with my parent. Pansy said she's going another time, and, even if I did sort of make peace with Nott, I'm not exactly running off to have a play-date with him. Crabbe and Goyle are going on the 23rd, Crabbe said (what are they, joined at the hip?), so not them either. I know! I'll write Forrest and see if he'll meet me!

**Thursday, August 12: My Bedroom**

Hogwarts letters are here! I noticed that there were a ton of Lockhart books on the list. I'm betting the new Dark Arts teacher is a woman, as it seems to be the witches that are Lockhart's biggest fans. I suspect that Mum fancies him a bit. When I told her about the books, she started gushing about what a brave, handsome, all around f_abulous_ man he was. Father growled something about stupid, overrated clots and their stupid, phony publicity, and bit viciously into a biscuit.

Then Monsieur Tyran mentioned that Lockhart would be signing books in Diagon Alley on the 19th, the day we're going, and Mother turned a very interesting shade of magenta. She was singing today. I didn't even know she _could_ sing.

**Thursday, August 18: Dining Hall**

Just got an owl from Forrest. He's good to meet me tomorrow, so the trip won't be a total bore. Actually, I'm really excited about visiting Knockturn Alley. I've only been a couple times and it's really, really interesting! You know, the skeletons-staring-at-you-and-shopkeepers-who-look-like-zombies kind of interesting. I do hope Dobby comes home soon. Father has developed a nervous twitch.

**  
Friday, August 19: Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor**

So far, I can't say this little trip is going splendidly. Actually, this whole day has been one disaster after another, it seems. It started out like any other day. I was woken by a rather harassed looking house-elf, who I promptly kicked in the mouth. (I am a bit grumpy in the morning.) So then, Monsieur Tyran tried waking me up. But really, how motivating is it to have this demented man standing over you cursing in French?

The first indicator that it was not a normal day came next, however. My father came in, sporting a slightly crazed look and waving his cane around like a madman. He took one look around, kicked the house-elf, and then pulled me out of bed by the ankle.

"GET UP!"

Now, as he was more than a little frightening at the moment, I was forced to acquiesce. He hasn't been exactly sane lately. Stress and all that. Stumbling down in my half-dead state, I was greeted by the smell of burnt pastry. Could it be? No, it wasn't possible. God would not torture me so.

But, alas, He-Who-Is-_Up_-_There_ decided to have a little fun with me today. Mum was COOKING. As I sat down, already wiping tears induced by the horrible smell from my eyes, I was greeted with a strange and frightening sight. Spread out in front of was the most disgustingly pink display of fairy cakes that I have ever seen or ever shall see again. They were all, of course, burnt beyond recognition, and each one was decorated with a little deformed Gilderoy Lockhart. My heart turned to ice. The man who invented fairy cakes must have turned in his _grave_.

My mother came skipping in (yeah, didn't know she could skip either), wearing a pink, frilly apron with, you guessed it, a grinning picture of Lockhart on it.

"Eat up, Draco!" She said cheerfully. "Today is the day we meet _Lockhart_!"

I stared at her.

"And, of course, we're going to get your school things," she said, having the grace to look a little embarrassed.

I feel _so_ loved, I can't even tell you.

Father stomped in at that moment, mumbling something about Gilderoy Lockhart being Satan incarnate, and (bless him) herded us into the carriage before mother could make me try her fairy cakes.

The trip to Diagon Alley was filled with an intimidating silence, only broken by Father's mutinous mutterings. I was beginning to feel that this trip would be long and tedious and said a quiet prayer of thanks to whatever inspired me to invite Forrest. On landing, Mother rushed over to Flourish & Blotts, where Lockhart was signing books, pausing only to ask me this all-important question.

"Draco," she wanted to know. "Do I look absolutely divine and yet, at the same time, very pretty and rather accessible?"

"Sure, mum," I said, feeling slightly disturbed.

Father snorted and sent Madam on her way. And, as Mum rushed off to flirt, he grabbed a hold of my wrist and pulled me towards my DESTINY (aka Knockturn Alley). All I could do was wonder why such a horrible feeling of foreboding had settled over me.

When we

**Still Friday**

Sorry. Mr. Fortescue wanted to know if I was a paying customer and let me know that, if I didn't buy something, my bottom was going straight out the door. After purchasing a small cup of ice cream, which I have no intention of eating (Blech. How common.), I have settled down to complete my tale of woe.

When we turned into the alley, I couldn't help noticing how dark and creepy it all was. Now, I've been raised on dark and creepy, but, for whatever reason, the whole place gave me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like I was going to be sick almost. It's so very… _evil_ in there. Except I'm the only person who's noticed.

Then we went into Mr. Borgin's shop, and I forgot all about the feeling. Because it's just so cool in there! I mean it! Haunted jewelry, caskets, skulls, the works! I was reaching for a glass eye when Father ruined my moment of fun.

Father: (ringing the shop bell) Touch nothing, Draco.

Bugger. I was hoping he would forget to tell me. As tempting as it was to keep on reaching for the glass eye, I decided that, if I did, Father would probably rap me one with his cane. Believe me, that hurts _much_ more than a birch rod.

Me: I thought you were going to buy me a present.

He did, too. As this journal is my witness, he said he'd buy me a present if I was good at the reunion. And he'd better pull through, too!

Father: I said I would buy you a racing broom.

Me: What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team? Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous ... famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead… everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick.

Stupid Potter. Life is so unfair. You know it is! I'm the pureblood! _I_ should get the special treatment, not _him_! He's not really any different from me, you know. He's really not as wonderful as everyone makes him out to be.

Father: You have told me this at least a dozen times already. And I would remind you that it is not… _prudent_… to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear.

That's when Mr. Borgin came out, thankfully ending that lecture. You see, Father wants me to be all buddy-buddy with Potter, so he doesn't look suspicious. Well, the only was he's going to get me to be nice to Potter is the Imperious Curse!

Anyway, Father and Mr. Borgin talked for a while. Blah, blah, blah, stupid ministry, selling, gratuitous flattery, blah, blah… And then I spotted the coolest thing in the entire shop.

"Can I have that?" I couldn't help interrupting.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" Mr. Borgin exclaimed, obviously excited about a potential sale. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," Father glared at both of us. "Though, if his grades don't pick up, that may indeed be all he is fit for –"

Oh, for Merlin's sake! This _again_?

"It's not my fault," I shot back. "The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger–"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam," Father said, coldly.

Oh, this is just great! Thanks to that stupid mudblood girl, I've made my father ashamed of me. I _hate_ her! It's all her fault, you know! If she weren't around, my father would be proud of me again. She's ruining my life.

Anyway, Father and Mr. Borgin bargained for a while, as I looked around, still fuming. As I was looking at a cursed necklace, a strange thing happened. I turned around and, right in front of me was this cabinet. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was moving foreword, reaching out to touch it. It was mesmerizing, really, pulling me in. Was that… _breathing_ I heard? I really think it was, and I swear to you now, there was someone in that cabinet. I could hear their _heart_ beating.

Just as my hand reached the handle, though, Father called me, and I had to leave the shop. Well, I guess that's what I should expect from an item in Knockturn Alley. Still, on my way out and for almost an hour afterwards, I wanted so badly to open it that it hurt. It was a kind of painful longing, I'd say. Strange.

Then again, it IS Knockturn Alley. So maybe it isn't _that_ strange, after all.

**Still, Still Friday**

I wish that Mr. Fortescue would leave me alone. He interrupted my writing, telling me that I had to eat my bloody ice cream, not just poke at it, or I needed to leave and stop taking up his space. I tried to buy him off with a couple of galleons but to no avail. So, I had to eat the sprinkle-covered monstrosity.

It was actually very good. I've never really had ice cream before. Invented by muggles you know. Father says it's part of the Ministry's attempt at "blending" the two worlds together. Yeah, like that's going to happen.

Well, anyway, where was I? Leaving Knockturn Alley. Yes. Well, as we were making our way down Diagon Alley, I suddenly heard someone calling my name. I turned around and, lo and behold, who would it be but Forrest, running towards me.

Father snorted at this obvious display of non-aristocraticis… ness (which is not a word, but who cares). Forrest stopped in front of us, panting heavily and clutching a large bag to his chest.

"Hi," he gasped. "I… saw you way back there… couldn't catch up."

Father looked down at him, wrinkling his nose.

"And _who_," he asked, coldly. "Are you?"

"This is Forrest… uhh… Dad. (I decided that "dad" would be the appropriate noun to use around Forrest.) He's the friend from school I was telling you about."

"Oh. The _bleeding heart_."

Forrest blinked at him, obviously surprised by my father's rudeness.

Forrest: Yeah, that's me. (nervous laugh) So, it's nice to meet you Mr. Malfoy. Draco talks about you all the time.

Father: Does he now? And where, may I ask, are your parents?

Me: Father…

Please, I prayed. Please don't let him start the interrogating thing. Apparently, somebody up there is angry with me today.

Forrest: Oh… I don't… really have any…

Father: You're an orphan, are you?

Forrest: Kind of, yeah.

Forrest is an orphan? How come I didn't know that? Maybe Pansy's right, and I am a bit self-absorbed. Do you think?

And what's up with everyone's parents dying? There's Nott, there's Potter, now Forrest, and… well, I'm sure there are a lot more. Aren't Longbottom's parent's dead? They aren't around ever, just his gran. Maybe I'm supposed to know? Anyway…

Father: Well, isn't that a _pity_. Who do you live with now? Surely you're not out on the street. Though, by the way you're dressed, I wouldn't be surprised.

Me: Father!

Forrest: I live with my aunt and uncle. And my brothers and sisters. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the night.

Father: Oh. I see. And what was your parents name? I'm sure I knew them. I know all of the old wizarding families.

Forrest: Oh, well, they… (mumbles something unintelligible) I- I don't really like to talk about them.

Insert long, awkward silence here. Forrest sweated, I was humiliated, and my father cleaned his nails. We all started walking together down the alley, heading for Flourish & Blots.

Forrest: So… Mr. Malfoy, what do you do exactly?

Father: I am head of the Department of Mysteries, my boy. Of course, I also… (he rattled of about his oh-so-important jobs for a while), etcetera.

Forrest: (obviously lying) That's _so_ interesting! You know, I've been thinking about going into Ministry work, though I'm not quite sure how to go about it. How did you get your job, Mr. Malfoy?

Father: Well, I took over from the previous electorate when he very sadly accidentally _brutally_ cut his head off while combing his hair.

Forrest: (taken aback) Oh. How… _fascinating_.

Just about then, thankfully, Father spotted someone that he needed to "have a chat with" and walked off. I think Forrest actually breathed a sigh of relief. My father turned back before he went.

"Draco, go pick up the rest of your school things," he told me.

"Yes, sir."

"Wait for me over there at Mr. Fortescue's."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't go anywhere else, Draco," he said. "Don't talk to strangers, don't go into the muggle world, don't buy from street vendors, and _don't_ go down any dark alleyways."

Yes, and I'll try not to take any unwrapped candy either. Gods. You disappear once down Knockturn Alley when you're three, and they never let you live it down.

"Yes, sir."

"That's my boy."

As Father sauntered off, Forrest turned to me, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" I asked, wondering at the odd look he was giving me.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so… _submissive_. I expected some kind of sarcastic comment or _something_."

I shrugged, heading towards Flourish & Blotts.

"You don't really talk back to my father. He's… well… not the kind to take it."

"So I gathered," Forrest looked thoughtful. "Kind of reminds me of my uncle, except with a pimp cane."

"With a… pimp cane?"

Forrest flushed.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Draco! I didn't mean to insult… I mean… It's actually a very nice cane! Uhh…"

I opened my mouth to assure him that Pansy commonly referred to said walking stick as a "pimp cane", so it didn't bother me, (I was just surprised that HE said it, mind you.) when I noticed the insane amount of people stuffed into Flourish & Blotts. You couldn't even see inside, it was so packed!

"Oh, wow," Forrest said as we opened the door. "Okay, attack plan. You get all of the books from upstairs. I'll get the ones down here."

"That sounds good. Meet me at Fortescue's, alright?"

"Sure."

And with that, we both dove into the crowd, going our separate ways. I made it upstairs, with much difficulty, and started grabbing two of every book on the list. But then I looked down, and I noticed something. At the center of the crowd, happily taking a picture for the Daily Prophet with Lockhart, was Harry Potter.

Why does he haunt me? I ask you!

As I stomped down the stairs, I spotted Mum and dumped the pile of books in her arms. Then I turned and made my way towards Potter, who was stumbling out of the crowd with a pile of free books. It's disgusting, really. All of that favoritism, just because of one fluke that happened when he was a baby. I really hate it!

When I finally pushed my way over to him, he was leaning over and whispering to a tiny, redheaded girl that looked vaguely familiar.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" I sneered down at him.

He stiffed and then straightened up to look at me. I continued talking as if I hadn't' even noticed the hostile look he was giving me.

"Famous Harry Potter. Can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page."

The redheaded girl with him, who hadn't moved until now, suddenly pushed past him, putting her hands on her hips and glaring up at me. That's when I finally recognized her.

It was _Ginevra_.

Yes, that girl from the train station! My, but it's a small world, isn't it? I know she recognized me also, because her eyes got very wide and, for a second, it looked as if she was going to back down. Now, I couldn't have that. I gave her my most infuriating look, smirking and raising my eyebrows, just _daring_ her to say something. Her eyes narrowed.

"Leave him alone," she said angrily. "He didn't want all that!"

I sneered down at her.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!"

Ginevra turned bright red, shutting her mouth for the first time since I'd met her. Surprisingly, my comment didn't seem to affect Potter much. In fact, he seemed a bit confused as to why _she_ was so embarrassed. He really is clueless, isn't he? I almost feel _sorry_ for the silly girl.

Before I could point out Potter's idiocracy to him, the other two members of the Dream Team came up behind him.

"Oh, it's you," said Weasley, looking rather displeased to see me. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," I shot back. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."

He turned a delightful scarlet color and started towards me, but Potter and Granger held him back. Have I shared with you the sick pleasure I get out of winding up Weasley? It may be wrong, but Merlin, is it fun!

Just then I heard a voice calling to Weasley from across the store. A group of people, mostly redheads, was making its way towards us. At the head was a large man that I recognized as Arthur Weasley, Ron's father. The others, I concluded, were the rest of the Weasley clan.

As the group settled around us, it suddenly occurred to me. I don't know why I didn't see it before! Red hair, apparently dirt poor, hanging around with Potter… It all pointed to one thing.

Ginevra is a _Weasley_.

This should have been obvious, I suppose, but, for whatever reason, I just didn't put the pieces together. To my credit, however, she _is_ a girl in a family that is all boys. Also, her name is _Ginevra_. "Hi, these are my children: Ron, Fred, George, GINEVRA." Now, how was I to know? I ask you!

Anyway, just as this revelation came upon me, I heard a voice from behind me, feeling an all-too-familiar hand on my shoulder.

"Well, well, well. Arthur Weasley."

It was my father, glaring at Mr. Weasley in exactly the same way I think I must glare at his son. It was weird watching them, kind of like peering into the future. After all, people do say that we're nearly identical. And what happened next certainly seemed like something Weasley and I would do. (Though, I think I would do it in a slightly less _mortifying_ way.)

Mr. Weasley: (nodding icily, by way of greeting) Lucius.

Father: Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime?

He reached into Ginevra Weasley's cauldron, pulling out a ratty copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. It was in sad condition, let me tell you, and I saw Ginevra blush with embarrassment. I swear, I must get this poisonous personality thing from my father.

Father: Obviously not. Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it.

Mr. Weasley: We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy.

"Clearly," Father hissed.

He gestured over to two muggles that were, apparently, with the Weasleys. I think they must have been Granger's parents. Arthur Weasley's ears reddened.

"The company you keep, Weasley… And I thought your family could sink no lower."

Then, in true Weasley form, Mr. Weasley went at my father. I'm not actually sure who threw the first punch, but, before I knew it, they had knocked over a bookshelf and were rolling around underneath a pile of heave books, hitting each other. People were screaming and stampeding, the Weasley twins were cheering him on, and I just stood there, utterly mortified.

Finally, I heard a voice booming over the crowd.

"Break it up, there, gents! Break it up!"

Hagrid stood over my father and Mr. Weasley, separating them from each other. I never in all my life thought I'd be glad to see Hagrid, but here I was, ready to throw my arms around him in gratitude. Father was, of course, not at all as glad as I was. He had a black eye from being hit with a rather large spell book, and Mr. Weasley's lip was bleeding. You know, I can't be sure_ who_ came out better, but I'd venture to say Father would have won if Hagrid had let it go on. Mr. Weasley's no match for Father's cane, which he will use as a weapon if provoked.

Father threw Ginevra's book back into her cauldron, looking peeved.

"Here, girl," He snarled. "Take your book. It's the best your father can give you."

With that, he turned and motioned to me to follow. Looking peeved, he swept out of the shop, with me in tow. I didn't say anything, as he looked ready to Avada Kedavra the next person foolish enough to speak to him.

Once outside, Father turned on me. Where were my books? Where was I supposed to be? What had he told me about fighting with Potter?

I pointed out that he hadn't exactly been a shining example of sainthood in there either, but that just made him angrier. Finally, he ordered me to the ice cream parlor, saying he'd come for me when he was done.

So here I am, sitting at a table in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and chocking down my third sundae since my arrival. And I have to wonder, where in the world is Father? For that matter, where is Forrest? And why, oh why, do I always get the bad end of _everything_?

**Still Friday: Madam's Carriage **

_Draco, are you alright?_

I'm fine. Why?

_Well, that was a pretty hard hit. I think I heard something crunch._

I didn't hear anything crunch. Besides, it's nothing. He's just in a bad mood.

_And is he frequently in a bad mood?_

Bad, yes. This bad, no.

_Good. You'd be in horrible shape if he were, you know._

No worries, Forrest. I have Monsieur Tyran for that.

_Yeah. Are you sure you don't have a concussion? Your eyes are kind of weird._

I'm fine. And what's weird about my eyes?!

_Nothing, nothing. Never mind. Hey, Draco, do you think he'll whack me too if I say anything?_

I wouldn't chance it.

_That's what I thought._

Yeah...

_Yeah._

No, seriously. What's wrong with my eyes?

**STILL Friday: Malfoy Mansion, My Room**

Don't mind that last entry. Forrest and I where passing notes on the way home. It's probably really confusing to you anyway, as you have no idea what we were talking about in the first place.

You know, I've just realized something. This entire journal is written like I'm talking to someone. Is that a bit weird? Don't worry, though. I do not, in fact, believe that this book is sentient.

There! I've done it again! Why do I do that, I wonder. Oh well. Back to my story.

So, after I waited in the ice cream parlor for two hours (TWO HOURS!), Forrest finally showed up, followed closely by my father. Forrest's hair was mussed, his eyes were wide, and he looked more than a little harassed. As soon as he reached my table, he slumped into the chair across from me with a sigh.

"What took you so long?" I wanted to know.

"Well," Forrest started. "It's kind of a funny story. See, I was heading for the Lockheart books when this group of witches just-"

At that moment, Father arrived. Forrest never got to finish his story.

"Draco, we're going. And you," He said, looking disdainfully down at Forrest. "My wife insists that our driver take you home. Come along, and, please, be quiet. I have a horrible headache."

You know, I'm not surprised. Half of his face had turned a purple color from that hit he took to the face. I'm rather inclined to say he deserves it though, because of what happened next.

We followed him in silence, finally arriving at the carriage. Mum was waiting for us, and Madam was in the driver's seat, ready for takeoff. But, as we started to get in, I remembered something. Father never got me my racing broom! And, like a fool, I thought it would be a good time to bring it up.

"Father," I said, stopping mid-step. "You forgot to buy my broom."

"Get in the carriage, Draco," Father hissed, glaring down at me. "I told you, I have a headache. We're going home _now_."

"But Father, you promised! Remember? You promised you'd buy me a racing broom if I was good at the reunion! And I was!"

"Draco," he nearly shouted. "Get in the carriage!"

(Okay, note to self. That was a bad time to continue pressing the point.)

"But you promised! I was really good! I put up with Uncle Ramputin's stories and Aunt Martha's ramblings and… and everything! I did! And I want my broom! You pro-"

And then, before I could say anything else, _whack_. Father's cane had come straight down on my head. Gods, did that hurt! I mean, really, he could have at least not used all of his strength. I was _bleeding_, for Merlin's sake!

"There!" He bellowed. "How does that feel? Does it feel good?! I'll bet it feels a lot like my head right now! Now, GET IN THE CARRIAGE!"

While I was too dizzy from the blow to say anything, Mum got out, practically pulling me in with her. Forrest was staring at me, with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Having him see me like that… Cor, it was awful! How much embarrassment can I take in one day, anyway?

No one was brave enough to speak on the way home, though Forrest did write to ask if I was okay (see above entry). After we got home, Father stormed off and locked himself away in his study, and Madam took Forrest home.

Okay, I am _not_ going down to dinner. I am just so furious with him! (Father, I mean. Not Forrest.) Of all the horrible, irrational… GODS!

All right, I'm done. I suppose I deserved it, anyway. I should know when to leave off with him. Besides, it's not like this is the first time this kind of thing has happened. I just bring out the worst in people, I think.

I'll sleep on it. I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning. I always do.

**Tuesday, August 25: West Wing**

I'm dead. No, I'm worse than dead. I'm _killed_. Monsieur Tyran is going to kill me! What has happened you ask? Well, I'll tell you. It is horrible, simply horrible!

Okay, _truthfully_, if it weren't going to get me into so much trouble, I would find it quite funny. But that's not the point.

From now on, I'm going to think twice before accepting any more gifts from Pansy. Because Mini-Draco has caused me nothing but trouble. Nothing!

Today, he escaped from my trunk (where I've had him locked all summer, in an attempt to avoid things like this) and followed me down to the dining hall. I want to go into town this week and get some sweets, so I decided to ask Father. He said no. Just "no"! Just like that! Just… like… "_no_"! Now, I was righteously angered by this. Luckily, I am gifted with the ability to control my anger.

Mini-Draco is not.

"Ow!" Father shouted, suddenly.

He held up his finger, from which was dangling a very tiny, very angry plushy.

"What the-?"

On that, Mini-Draco let go of his finger and pounced.

"Ah! It's got my _eyelid_!"

As Father shouted and made a scene, I slipped out, longing to escape the madness. Unfortunately, the satanic thing followed me around all day. House elves were tortured, women were moved to tears, and children were terrorized.

It was _brilliant_, let me tell you.

That is, until the time came for classes. And, inevitably, the wrath of the Mini was stirred. The last time I saw him, Mini-Draco was latched onto Monsieur Tyran's back, looking wild with anger. The poor man didn't have a clue. I've heard that one of his arms has been lost, though I'm not sure how. Then again, it's just a rumor and probably not true. Too bad. That would mean an escape from tutoring.

* * *

Well, that's it! Part Two is coming soon, don't worry about that. You know, I've noticed something. Draco takes a _lot_ of abuse in Chapter Nine. No, seriously! When you combine the two parts that's, like, enough to get him in foster care, definitely (or at least a restraining order for Monsieur Tyran). I mean, it's not going to happen, of course, but… Huh. Then again, Wizard Law is probably different than our law. But still. Poor Draye. huggles Ah! He bit me!

My one wish for you, my readers, is this: may your holidays be filled with the cheerful, loving attitude of Draco. May you too enjoy the pain of those trampled Christmas shoppers. May you mock Christmas classics with those Pansys in your life. May you give poisoned treats to your enemies, throw pinecones at innocent bystanders, and eat all of the popcorn of your relatives' trees. Above all else, have a happy Christmas, even if having a happy one means being a bit of a Grinch.

Merry Christmas from Novalee, Acorn, and the gang!

(And we promise an update is coming soon. Really, it is.)

**Roddanagh… or feliscorvis… or alexis:** :joins in cackling I love Pansy! Sounds like something you'd do, does it? Well, then I love YOU too! Is it really? Thank you SO much! Oh, and he was going to say "assets". What, you thought I didn't know? :grins: **nightstar13**: Bonjour! Oui, je parles francais (un peu)! Je aimes la langue, mais, oui, l'imparfait es trais mal! Anyway, thanks so much for the review! It was really fun to have one in French! Well, I've heard of a person who did and read about one who did, so I decided to generalize. Bad Nova! Heh. Yeah, Mini-Draye gets that a lot. You think the characterization is good? YAAAY!!! :celebrates: That's my favorite compliment! Read on! **Nuit Chouette: **Yes, I agree. Stupid elf. Pansy and Tom were my favorite characters in that chapter (aside from Draco!). How did I know that Uncle Ramputin would be your favorite? How did I _know_?! Were you pleased with the mention of Mini-Draco? I thought you might be. **Thaelia15:** Changed it! Yes, I figured you would! Poor Tom is dedicated to you, as of now! Thae-chan, he couldn't hex him because they were in the MUGGLE part of town! :face-palm: I'm just waiting for the inevitable "so?". Yes and, as I have mentioned, our English teacher reenacting her son's birth is NOT copyright you. If anything, it should be copyright Mrs. Martha R. (name shortened to protect privacy). So, ha! In your face! :ducks and hides from Thaelia: **IdentityCrisis:** Heh… (embarrassment) Sorry. It's been a whole summer since French class. I went back and made the changes! Don't worry, you aren't the only person who wants to be French. I loooooooove the accent. And Kyo (band). They rock! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! **MoonlightPrincess: **Don't we all! May not be a good idea though. He might eat you. Anyway, thanks tons!** Ludra: **I'm glad you're enjoying it! Sorry it took so long to write. I've been… busy. :barely restrains herself from spouting out excuses left and right: Bless you, Ludra, for that comment about the grammar. I always feel like people look at my chapters and think I'm horrible because of the mistakes. I just can't spell! DON'T JUDGE ME! Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! **goddess of darkness3:** Heh heh. Define _soon_. Thanks for the compliments! Keep reading! **pyrobrat88:** A genius, eh? Well, I try not to fly in the face of public opinion! Hohohoho! :clears throat: Sorry… I'm glad you like it! Once again, I think the definition of "soon" is relative, don't you? :nods: Relative. Yes. Anyway, thanks for the review!** Acorn:** Worry not, A-san! I have corrected my mistake! Thanks again for all of the beta work you've been doing for me. You've helped tons! :pulls out her pom-poms: Gimme an A-C-O-R-N! GOOOO ACORN!!!


	10. Chapter the Third

Hello all! I come bearing the fruits of my labor! One chapter of PoV, coming up! Special thanks to my beta, mnwugn86 (aka Acorn-san), for his assistance, encouragement, and guilt-inspiring questions on my progress. All hail A-san! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

Happy reading!

* * *

**Saturday, August 29: West Wing Library**

I saw Pansy in town today. (Yes, I went anyway. What were you expecting?) Anyway, her parents are going away the night before we leave for Hogwarts, and she wants to spend the night at the Mansion. I told her that would be fine, to come over at six, and that we would provide dinner.

A few hours later, I thought that I might need to actually _ask _my parents.

With this task in mind, I began my trek to the North Wing, where my father resides. You know, Malfoy Mansion is a nice place for those individuals who can Apparate, but it obviously was not made for young wizards like myself. It takes nearly an hour to get from wing to wing, if you don't use the transporter cabinets in the kitchen. They're there so that the servants can get to you quickly, when you need them. I'm not supposed to go into the kitchen, of course, but surely they don't expect me to _walk_!

On entering the study, I saw that my father was seated casually on his desk, looking over a very large piece of parchment with what looked like a magnascope.

"What are you doing?" I couldn't help asking.

"Hello, Draco," Father said, without looking up. "I'm looking over your Uncle Monty's will, to see what he's left us."

"Uncle Monty _died_?"

Why hadn't anyone told me? I didn't even know he was sick! I wondered why he hadn't been at the reunion but… Well, honestly, I didn't care enough to ask about it. Now I'm feeling vaguely guilty.

"Well," Father circled something at the bottom of the will. "He is _alive_, but only in the sense that he can't be legally _buried_."

Ah. Sorry I asked.

"I see."

Then I remembered my reason for coming. But before I could even mention Pansy, a flurry of blue robes, which turned out to be Mother, came rushing in.

"Lucius," she said breathlessly. "Something terrible has happened! We've forgotten Fudge's birthday! People are already talking! We'll never live it down!"

Father shook his head.

"Not a problem. I've already sent over Montgomery's furniture."

Okay, Uncle Monty hasn't even been dead a month, and Father's already giving away his things. Does anyone find this a bit strange?

"Oh. That's good," Mother said, looking relieved.

And then, much to my chagrin, the conversation turned to me.

Mother: Speaking of birthdays, I know someone who's going to be eleven soon!

Father: Who? Your niece Rosette? That was last _week_.

Mother: _No_. Draco! (to me) Your birthday's September 13th, isn't it?

Me: Uhh…

Father: No, that's your father's birthday, Narcissa. Draco's birthday is May 26th.

Me: Actually…

Mother: That's my birthday, dear.

Father: Oh. Are you sure?

Mother: Fairly, dear. Well… huh. When _is_ Draco turning eleven?

Father: I always thought it was a spring birthday. Is it a spring birthday, Draco?

Mother: _No_, Lucius. Draco's birthday is in the fall, right honey?

Father: No, it's-

Me: (unable to take any more of this) It's November 18th. I turned eleven _last_ November 18th.

Both: Oh!

We stood in silence for a moment.

Mother: Well, I think we missed your birthday.

Me: Yeah. You did.

Father: Oh. (not _sounding_ very sorry) Sorry.

Mother: I'm sure you're not terribly scarred.

Me: Actually, I think you've done permanent damage.

Father: (indifferently) Have we?

Me: Yes. Honestly, I think I'll have to tell somebody about this. Emotional support, you know. Wonder how Fudge is at counseling…

They stared at me, understanding for the first time that I was a SLYTHERIN. As in, I will do _anything_ to get what I want. I tell you, blackmail is a beautiful thing.

Father: So, how would you like Ingleside Manor for a present?

Me: (incredulously) You're giving me Uncle Monty's _house_?

Father: Sure! I got my first manor house when I was about your age. I'll even let you hire the staff and everything. Would you like that?

Would I! I think I'm going to call it "Castle Draco"! And the fountains will run thick with chocolate! I will build my own Quidditch pitch out back! The servants will address me as Lord Malfoy! Or Your Gracious Highness! All hail King Draco!

Me: It'll do.

Father: I'm _so_ glad. That reminds me, Uncle Monty's memorial service is on the 1st, so we'll be leaving on August 31st. We won't be seeing you off this year, but I'm sure Madam can handle it.

Me: (visions of manor houses dancing in my head) Uh huh.

I forgot to ask him if Pansy could stay, but they'll both be gone anyway. Besides, it's not like they care. Sadly, Monsieur Tyran will be watching us. Joy and rapture.

So, today I learned to balance a spoon on my nose, finished my essay on witch-hunts, and got a house! All in all, I'd say it was a considerably productive day. Wouldn't you?

**Sunday, August 30: The Classroom**

This is getting ridiculous. Would you believe that Dobby is gone _again_! Father is furious. I can't help but find this whole thing hilarious. I mean, really, what is he thinking? Okay, stupid question. The answer would be _nothing_. Stupid elf.

The funny thing is, I

Never mind, then. I have to go. Curse Monsieur Tyran for taking up my free time!

**Monday, August 31: My Room**

I love Pansy! I mean, I really, really love her! If I, as I expect, am forced to marry her, I will probably not object! (After all, who else am I going to marry, right? Why not do what my parents want and marry Pansy? We could have two or three little deranged munchkins running around, shouting about evil plots and so-and-so stole my hair care products. Just taking a look into my future, here.) Suffice to say, tonight went quite well.

It all started about six o'clock, when Pansy came prancing into the foyer of Malfoy Mansion. On arriving, she immediately stacked her bags into Monsieur Tyran's arms (unfortunately, the rumors proved to be false, he still has all his appendages). She then snapped her fingers and ordered him to take them to my room. This amused me greatly, just let me tell you.

Pansy: Take my bags up to Draco's room.

Tyran: (sounding offended) Excuses moi?

Pansy: (slowly, as if he were very stupid) Take- my- bags- to- Draco's- room.

Tyran: Mademoiselle, je-

Pansy: Halt den Munde. ((Shut up.))

Did I mention that Pansy spoke German? Well, she does. Luckily, so do I, because that meant I could enjoy this great conversation. Just so you know, Monsieur Tyran does not speak German. It's great! This entire conversation may be lost in translation, but believe me it was hilarious!

Tyran: Que? ((What?))

Pansy: Sie sind ein Idiot. ((You are an idiot.))

Tyran: Je ne comprends pas. ((I don't understand.))

Pansy: Ihre Mutter ist eine hure. ((Your mother is a whore.))

Tyran: Mademoiselle, je ne parle pas allemande. ((Miss, I don't speak German.))

Pansy: Halt die klappe Affe. ((Shut your trap, ape.))

Tyran: Que dis-tu! ((What are you saying!))

Pansy: Non, non. Il n'y a pas de quoi. Imbecile. ((No, no. It's nothing. Idiot.))

Tyran stared at her for a moment, then threw down her things and stormed out, screaming obscenities as he went. Luckily, I managed to muffle my chuckles until after the doors closed, and then both of us burst into peals of laughter. When I finished wiping tears from my eyes, I had to thank her for roughing him up for me. After all, I've been wanting to all summer. (The closest _I_ got was the Wrath of the Mini.)

"No problem," Pansy said, patting me on the head. "Nobody gets to bully Draco Malfoy but me."

(About the head-patting thing: People keep _doing_ that! Why? I know I'm short! Why rub it in!)

On our way through the kitchen, towards the transporter cabinets, one of the house-elves scurried up.

"Please," It said, looking so flustered that I thought its head might explode. "Bippy cannot let young masters in kitchen. Bippy will have to iron her hands!"

She paused, giving us a pitiful look.

"Not that Bippy does not have to iron her hands every day, even when she has not done anything wrong."

She sighed a bit more deeply than was necessary.

"But Bippy, sir, Bippy is used to such ill treatment."

Pansy looked down at her for a moment, obviously surprised at the fact that a house-elf was actually whining in her family's presence. (It's Dobby's influence, I know it!) Then, she did a very odd, very Pansy-esq thing. She put her thumb and pointer finger together, leaned down so she was level with the house-elf, and began rubbing her fingers together.

"You know what?" She said. "This is the world's tiniest violin, playing the world's saddest song just for _you_."

Bippy the house-elf just stared at her, mouth open wide, obviously thinking, "This is not helping me in my oppression!" Pansy then straightened up and swept past her. The house-elf was too busy being shocked/offended to even stop us.

Pansy can get away with _so _much more than I can! I think it's the "cute, but psycho" thing. You know, she walks in wearing her pink, lacy clothes with some huge bow in her hair, and everyone thinks "Aww. What a sweet little girl." But then they look her in the eyes and see that they glow with some kind of demon life force. After that, they just back away slowly. I kind of wish I had the power to intimidate instead of infuriate. I get beat up a lot more.

We spent most of the night playing Exploding Snap and complaining to each other about Potter, our parents, Monsieur Tyran, etc. Then, late that night, Pansy suddenly stood up and asked where my mother's room was. It is, of course, in the South Wing, so we had to go through the kitchens again. I noticed Bippy the house-elf giving us a rather murderous look as we walked through, mumbling something obviously derogatory under her breath. Then, to my amusement, she turned around and ran head first into a wall. Now, you see! That's why house-elves should never forget their place. It just doesn't work.

We finally made our way into the huge, pink plush-covered Drawing Room that starts my mother's rooms, and Pansy wandered off into my mother's bedroom, telling me to wait for her. As I was waiting, I walked past a bookcase and found something quite frightening. My mother has built a sort of Lockhart shrine. And I'm not joking.

In a corner, there was a huge stack of Lockhart books. Sitting on top of them were several pink smoke emitting candles and pinned to the wall above the candles were Lockhart pictures. Tons and tons of Lockhart pictures, all winking or giving me the thumbs up sign. In the center of the pictures was Lockhart's autograph, written in sparkling purple ink.

I couldn't help noticing that there weren't any pictures of _me_ anywhere around.

Pansy came up behind me suddenly, talking in the little Lockhart temple.

"Wow," she said. "The extended edition of Magical Me. You know, there were only four of those printed. And it's signed too. _Merlin_. Who did your mother have to sleep with to get this thing?"

I told her I'd rather not think about that.

So now I'm sitting here and waiting for Pansy to bring up the food she went for. She won't tell me what she went to my mother's rooms to get. She's being all evasive and calling me by my pet name, so I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me. Well, I'll find out eventually, I suppose. I think I'll let it go for the rest of the night.

Maybe we can mess with Tyran some more. After all, what's the use of having the harassment queen spend the night with you if you don't use her for your own amusement?

**Tuesday, September 1: Hogwarts Express, En route to Hogwarts**

Monsieur Tyran woke us up early this morning, and it was all too apparent that he was blaming me for Pansy's actions last night. See! It's just like I said! I get the bad end of absolutely, positively _everything_!

Anyway, he was obviously in a hurry to get rid of us, since he was following behind us and whacking me across the legs with his birch rod whenever I slowed down. Like he was herding cattle or something. (Rude.) He finally loaded us into the carriage, looking rather relieved to be rid of me for an entire school term. You know, I find it amusing that he loathes me just as much as I loathe him. Pansy says we deserve each other. I really can't argue.

"Au revoir, Ennuyeux."

I'm not quite sure when Monsieur Tyran nicknamed me "Troublesome". He's just always called me that, off and on. It's a sort of pet name he has for me. Kind of like "stupid boy". Or "demon child".

We made it to the train in good time and managed to find Forrest, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle before we left the station. Maybe sharing a compartment with them wasn't such a good idea. Nott spent the first half of the trip holding me down and force-feeding me vomit-flavored Bertie Bott's beans. He said that just because we've made peace doesn't mean he doesn't still enjoy my pain. Pansy didn't bother to make him stop, because she was busy rushing through her holiday homework. (What has she been _doing_ all summer?) Anyway, she just sat there and let Nott torture me. What happened to the "no one gets to pick on you but me" thing! I like that thing! It means I don't get beat on!

Anyway, the Draco torture went on for a while, until Forrest mercifully suggested that I go for snacks. As I hurried out, I think he might have winked at me. Bless his very soul.

I was quite content in the little nook I had found to sit in, and I think I might have been fine with sitting there for the rest of the trip, if Crabbe and Goyle hadn't come bumbling by my hiding spot, calling my name and looking like very lost, very stupid puppies. They're so hopeless without me. It warms the heart.

As we would not all fit in the nook (not for lack of trying on Crabbe and Goyle's part), I was faced with a dilemma. Feeling that my only choice was to head back to the compartment, I started off down the hall. Then, they nearly gave me a heart attack.

"Hey," Crabbe grunted. "Why don't we just steal someone else's compartment?"

"Yeah," said Goyle. "We'll find one full of first years and just kick them out. What do you think, Malfoy?

I stared at them for a moment, shocked by this sudden show of intelligence.

"Crabbe! Goyle! You're absolutely brilliant!"

"Whahh?" Crabbe squinted at me, looking very confused.

Goyle stuck his wand up his nose.

"Never mind."

I decided to invade a compartment just down the hall. As we stepped in, all wearing our more intimidating looks, I noticed that the first years all cringed as one, trying to get as far away from us as possible. Now _this_ was going to be fun.

The first one to speak was a little, mouse-like boy with a rather strange looking camera around his neck.

Mouse-boy: Umm… H-hi. I'm C-Colin Creevey. What's- What's your name?

Goyle: GRAAARR!

Mouse-boy: Eep! (cowers in corner)

Me: All right, everyone. If you would all clear out of my compartment…

Unimportant First Years: (flee in terror)

Mouse-boy: It's not y-_your_ compartment! We have as much right to it as you do! Y-You get out!

He didn't seem to realized that there wasn't any "we" left. He just stood there, trying to look defiant, and I found that I couldn't help liking him just a little. Finally, however, I came to my decision.

Me: Crabbe, please fetch Mouse-boy's jaw for me.

Crabbe: 'Kay. (lunges)

Mouse-boy: AAAHH! (pauses) (holds up camera)

Camera: (FLASH!)

Crabbe: Rah! My eyes!

Mouse-boy: (runs away) YAAAH!

We all stood there for a moment, staring after him. Imagine. Bested by a camera! Pitiful.

So, I've spent the majority of the trip trying to keep Crabbe and Goyle from eating their own body parts. Uhh. Bodyguard sitting. And I'm not kidding. Crabbe and Goyle need constant supervision.

It's a thankless job, but I've got a lot of Karma to burn off.

**Still Tuesday: The Dorm**

Ginny Weasley's been sorted into Gryffindor. Now, _there's_ a shocker. I am actually surprised by how much I am beginning to despise her. At first, she was just annoying, but now I think she might be just as bad as her brother. Don't believe me? Well, I bumped into her on the train, after my last entry, and let's just say it didn't go well.

I was walking around, minding my own business, when _smack!_ I walked right into her.

Weasley (the girl one… err… Weaslette.): Oh, I'm sorry! I'm- (looking up) _You_!

Me: Yes, me. Sorry to disappoint you, Ginevra.

Weaselette: That's Ginny! No one calls me "Ginevra"!

Then why did she introduce herself using that name? She's so illogical it hurts me.

Me: All right, all right. Ginny, then.

Weaselette: And- And who gave you permission to use my first name, _Malfoy_!

Oh, sure! Now, she's decided to hate me. I didn't see this hostility before she knew who I was, you know. And the Weasley's claim that WE'RE prejudiced. Merlin, what a bunch of hypocrites!

Me: No one did, _Weasley_. However, I can call you whatever I want to. Do you have a problem with that?

Weaselette: I have a problem with _you_. You and your family think that, just because we aren't as rich as you, you can treat up like trash!

I don't know _what_ the crazy bint was talking about. I haven't treated her worse than I treat anyone else. Obviously, someone's had a lesson in Malfoy Bashing 101. I'll say it again. Hypocrites! The whole lot of 'em.

Me: I don't treat you any worse than you deserve, you filthy little Muggle-lover.

She turned a bright red color, shaking all over with anger.

"Why, you… you horrible…!"

You know, I half expected her to come at me. That's what her brother would have done anyway. But she just glared at me for a moment, then stomped her foot like a two year old and stalked off. The feeling of joy that I get when I usually torture people just wasn't there. Maybe because she makes me just as mad as I make her.

Curse her.

Interestingly, no one can find Potter or Weasel-head. I hope they fell off the back of the train. It would greatly improve my day if they were reduced to grease smears on the tracks. I don't hold out much hope, though. My luck's not that good.

**Wednesday, September 2: The Dorm**

What a god-awful night. I don't get it. I didn't have a single _one _of those nightmares over the summer, and then I have one on the first night back? I'm starting to think that Pansy's right and maybe something weird really _is_ going on. I mean, it would explain a lot, right? Then again, I really don't want to sink to her level. I guess I should start recording the dreams. Just in case, I mean. After all, if someone comes along who _can _help me, well, I'd better have them then! So, here goes:

This dream was different than they usually are. Instead of every little detail, I only remember pieces. I remember being surrounded by fire and not burning. And I remember wandering around and still not being able to go anywhere. Through the flames, I could make out the figure of a girl with long hair, dressed in an old-fashioned Hogwarts uniform, with her back facing me. I walked towards her and put my hand on her shoulder to get her attention. Then, all of a sudden, she whipped around, so that I could see her face. All I remember after that is screaming. Screaming and screaming and not being able to stop, not even knowing why I was doing it.

When I finally wrenched my eyes open, Forrest and Nott were standing over me, shaking me awake. Apparently, I woke them up with my yelling. (Crabbe and Goyle are _very_ heavy sleepers. I could hear them snoring happily in the background, obviously not bothered by my screams of terror. _Tch_. Some bodyguards they are.) Forrest was wearing an expression of deep concern, and Nott surprised me with a slight show of worry on his face as well.

"Those nightmares again, Draco?" Forrest asked, sitting on my bed. "Did you stop taking the sleeping drought?"

No, I told him. I haven't. That's why having another nightmare is just so odd. It was like it forced its way through. Maybe that's why I only remember parts.

Nott was, of course, curious about what Forrest was talking about, so I had to explain it all to him. He stood there, thinking for a moment, before sitting on my bed beside Forrest.

"Do you think that has something to do with what happened to you last year? The _vision_ or whatever it was that wound you up in the Hospital Wing, I mean."

Forrest started.

"I thought you fell and hit your head."

Then I had to explain the whole thing to Forrest, as well. He and Nott also made me tell them everything else. The ring, Pansy's "discoveries", Dumbledore's speech. They both seemed a lot more concerned about it than I am.

"It's nothing," I insisted for the umpteenth time. "Really, it's no big deal."

I turned off the bedside light, and Forrest and Nott made their way back to bed. I was lying there, utterly convinced that I wouldn't sleep at all, when I felt someone slide into the bed next to me. I turned around to look at Forrest, very confused by this strange action.

"My mother always lay down with me if I had a nightmare," He whispered. "It helped."

Now, there's just no competing with an idea in an orphan boy's head. I didn't say anything. Then, I got the shock of my life. Nott, who had slid out of his bed as well, jumped into the bed on the other side of me. When I asked him what he thought he was doing, he just shrugged and tugged some cover away from me.

And, you know what? It did help. It really, truly did.

**Still Wednesday: Library**

Weasley and Potter have shown up. Always their show-offy selves, they've gone and crashed a "carr" (Or maybe it's spelled "kar". "Car"? Yes, that looks right.) into the Womping Willow. Apparently, a car is something like a carriage, only it runs on "gass" (What?) and is made of metal. I swear to you, Muggles are truly odd creatures. Forrest isn't too good at explaining, either. I can't help wondering how he knows all of this. I suspect he's got a Squib relative that he's ashamed of. Who knows, really? If the Angelos want to hide a pitiful little Squib relation, why should I bother unmasking them. I happen to think Forrest is quite… _nice_. While that's not a quality I normally look for in my friends, I think he manages to pull it off splendidly.

To my glee, Weasley got a little present in the owl post this morning. A howler from his mother, which, I must say, has utterly made my day. You should have seen his face! It was absolutely purple with embarrassment! Oh, the joy. Oh, the sick, sick pleasure.

Draco Malfoy Goal of the Day: Laugh at Weasley's pain. Check!

**Still Wednesday: The Dorm**

You won't believe what's happened! I'm really rather amused. It's the return of Mouse-boy! And it seems that he's a Harry Potter fan, too! Who would have thought?

How did I find this out, you ask? Well, I was taking a walk in the courtyard after lunch, hoping to torture Weasley about his howler, when I spotted Potter. I really was surprised to see who he was talking to. It was, of course, Mouse-boy Creevey, looking as jumpy as ever. Thinking that this would be quite fun, I made my way up, just in time to here Mouse-boy make this suggestion:

"Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you. And then, could you sign it?"

Now, I ask you, how on earth could I pass this up?

"_Signed photos?_ You're giving out _signed photos_, Potter?"

Potter froze, looking at me with an expression of horror. Horror, I've learned over the years of living in Malfoy Mansion, is a good expression when coming from your enemies. I decided to take it a step further.

"Everybody line up!" I shouted, enjoying my self more than might be deemed healthy. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"

Potter glared at me, looking furious. (Ha!)

"No, I'm not! Shut up, Malfoy!"

Then, to my surprise, Mouse-boy spoke up.

"You're just jealous!"

Foolish, foolish little Mouse-boy. I'm not jealous of Potter. (Nor am I envious, because, you know, that would be _proper_ English. Well, he is Muggle-born, after all.) I mean, what have I got to be jealous off? I mean, all the attention he gets, of course. And the fact that he gets his own little set of rules for conduct. You know, "No first-years can't play Quidditch, except Potter. No going out after dark, unless you're Potter. If you do this, you'll get expelled, if you're not Potter." And, I guess he does have friends who don't force feed him nasty foods or follow him around because they don't have anyone else. He's also got tons of friends, and people naturally like him, which never happens to me. And…

Dear God. I think I really _am_ jealous (or envious, or whatever) of him! When did this happen?

"_Jealous?_" I hissed back, deeply offended. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you all that special, thanks."

After that, I just ended up sniping with Weasley for a bit. I did finally get to make fun of his Howler by doing what I think was a simply wonderful imitation of his mother's voice. (I'm very good at mocking people through imitation, you know. Everybody says so.)

About then, that blathering idiot, Lockhart, showed up. Feeling that he could do much more damage to Potter's ego than I could at the moment, I took that moment to slip away. I really enjoy torturing him. It really _must_ be a complex.

Or maybe it really is envy. I can't really be bothered to ponder that right now. I've got to get a nap in before tonight. We've got Astronomy class. Blech.

**Thursday, September 3: History of Magic**

You know what? I've just realized something. I'm in second year and _that_ means… Quidditch tryouts! I'd almost forgotten! Merlin, I'm stupid! Well, I'm going to be trying out tomorrow afternoon, since first practices are Saturday. I'm going to be a seeker and _kill_ Potter! Then, I will point and laugh at him. Laugh, I say! Ha ha ha!

**Thursday: Common Room**

I'm not sure how I did in tryouts. _I_ think I was fine, but Flint's the captain and he's not very fond of me. Also, Higgs left a real gap in the team, and they don't seem to think that a second year could fill it. Ah well. There's always that chance. (I sound like I don't care, but, really, it's eating me up inside. Don't tell anybody.)

While we were changing for tryouts, one of the blokes trying out for chaser made an observation.

"You know," he told me. "You have a scar on your shoulder that looks _just_ like Snape's head."

I'd forgotten about that. I always thought it looked more like a duck, but I asked Forrest and Nott when I got back, and they both agreed with Chaser-Boy. They were quite curious as to how I got such a large, oddly shaped scar, and, while I admit I'm a bit fuzzy on details, I think it probably happened something like this:

Little Me: (climbing on a huge suit of armor)

Mum: Draco, honey, don't climb on that. You'll get hurt.

Father: Oh, let the little bastard play.

Suit of Armor: (falls)

Little Me: Ah! Help! I'm trapped beneath the armor!

Mum: Oh my god! What do we do, Lucius? What do we do!

Father: (smokes cigar calmly)

Mum: Oh, no! There's blood! (passes out)

Father: (picks up Mum) Just wiggle your hips a little Draco. It shouldn't be that hard. (leaves)

Little Me: Help… 200 pounds… metal… crushing… lungs!

Actually, it was Monsieur Tyran who ended up saving me. I'm sure he stood there for a few moments, weighting his options. ("Get some peace and quiet or keep my job. Hmm… Money… or peace?") Eventually, his need to be paid won out, and I was pulled from beneath the rubble. Who said greed never helps anyone?

Anyway, the scar is from where the sharp nosepiece caught me in the shoulder. It wouldn't have been so big (or Snape-shaped) if I hadn't tried to "wiggle" my way out. Once again, thanks to my father's _wonderful_ advice, I ended up worse than before. You know, you'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now, and yet I continue to follow him blindly. Not that I mean to or anything. It's easy to think for myself before or afterwards, but when I'm standing there and he's telling me what to think and do, I just can't seem to say "no". Sad really. After all, I want to be able to trust my father. I _want_ him to be right.

Ehh… enough deep thoughts. I'm hungry! I think I'll sneak out and scavenge for bits of dinner. Hey, just a thought here. Would Mini-Draco have a Snape scar on _his_ shoulder blade?

**Still Thursday: The Dorm**

He does. Also, he has a birthmark in a place Pansy should _not_ know about. My _god_, that's frightening. Let us never speak of this again.

* * *

Sorry about the lack of review responses in this chapter. I'm really very busy at the moment and, unfortunately, I'm wasn't able to get them done. However, that does not mean that I am not _sincerely _grateful to those of you who took the time out of your day to cheer me on. You are truly great people! 


	11. Nova is t3h sux0rs: A Happy, Happy Note

Dear Readers,

Nova-chan is dead. This is her loyal reviewer, pseudo-beta, and resident evil overlord, Thae-chan, taking over her FF account to tell all of you why she's being a lazy bum and not updating.

Instead of giving you a lengthy, word-filled explanation, chock full of nifty medical terms and free lemon poppy seed muffins, I have prepared a short interpretive dance, with mnwugn on oboe accompaniment.

((opens with "Novalee contracts various nasty diseases" mime))

((moves into "Nova's muse is kidnapped and taken to Zimbabwe to be ransomed by a pack of irate pygmy dentists" tango))

((continues with a spirited rendition of the "Thae hijacks a bus and drags sick Nova to Florida for Twinkies" step dance))

Thae is forced to stop her dance when mnwugn, exhausted from playing his oboe non-stop for the duration of her performance, passes out from lack of oxygen. Thae feels the irresistible urge to throw small rocks at his unconscious form. But I digress…

((Thae moves on to the "Nova, in her fevered state, forgets to fasten her safety harness while on the Incredible Hulk ride and is subsequently tossed to her doom in the theme park water feature below" ballet))

((and wraps up with the famed "Thae has stolen Nova's second Phantom of the Opera CD after her demise" Mexican hat dance))

Yours Evilly,

Thaelia15

NOTE:

Nova is not _actually_ dead. Thae has just gotten Mini-Draco to turn her into a newt. She'll get better….

((pokes un-moving Nova with foot and glares at gleeful Mini-Draco))

….Eventually.


End file.
